


Then What Happened?

by CaptainCountdown



Category: Atypical (TV 2017)
Genre: Cazzie, F/F, Post Season 3, Slow Burn, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 03:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCountdown/pseuds/CaptainCountdown
Summary: Set approximately three or so months after the end of Season 3. Sam's moving out, Doug and Elsa are rekindling their marriage, and Casey and Izzie are giving this relationship thing a go.
Relationships: Casey Gardner/Izzie
Comments: 159
Kudos: 973





	1. Ice Water

Casey groaned as she stood on the back of her shoe and slid her foot out. Her socks were damp, soaked through not only from the long run she'd taken around the neighborhood, but also the storm that had interrupted it and given her incentive to sprint the last half-mile home.   
  
"You're very wet." Sam was sketching at the kitchen table. The small, round space was overrun with his pens, pencils, a ruler, and what appeared to be a protractor.   
  
“Are you drawing, or doing geometry?” She laughed, reaching for the fridge. Briefly, she considered whipping her wet hair at him but thought better than to accidentally tarnish his drawing. He'd only finished his first semester at Denton, but there was no denying that he'd learned a lot.   
  
A carton of off-brand orange juice was hidden against the back wall of a low-lying shelf. No doubt Elsa had hidden it there in hopes that Casey wouldn't see it—because if Casey couldn't see it then she couldn't be compelled to do what she did next: pluck it from the shelf and guzzle it straight from the carton.   
  
"You really should use a cup for that." Sam spoke without looking up from his drawing. From what little Casey could see over his hunched shoulders, it was an architectural portrait, something with clean lines and expert shading.   
  
"You working for Elsa now?" She asked, still a little out of breath as she burped and returned the carton to the fridge.

"No, I still work for Techtropolis." Sam looked up at her now.   
  
Casey walked over to the table, her sodden socks leaving watery outlines on the vinyl floor behind her.   
  
"You won’t have to work there much longer, Monet." She smiled down at the picture, recognizing the elaborate brick building. “This is really good, Sam.”  
  
"But I like working at Techtropolis. And Monet mostly painted, he didn't even—"  
  
Casey slid the drawing towards her, ignoring her brother. She was careful not to drip water on the sketchpad as she admired Sam’s precise rendition of Brixton House, the apartment building that he and Zahid had finally decided to move into after touring it on three separate occasions. They’d had to keep going back because Zahid insisted that there was something off about the feng shui. For Sam, the apartment had been perfect immediately as there was a small nook-like closet big enough for a drafting table. Their leasing agent had described the tiny room as storage space, but the moment Sam stepped inside to inspect it, he knew he’d found his new drawing studio.  
  
“I can’t believe you and Zahid are moving in together.” She was tempted, then, to run her fingers over the brilliant, Connecticut foliage that Sam was still shading.  
  
He smiled thoughtfully. “Paige says it’s so nice that even she wants to move in.”  
  
“Oh, I'm sure Paige would fit right in at that old looney bin."   
  
"I'm sorry, what?" Zahid rounded the corner into the kitchen. He was drying his hands on his olive pants and reeking suspiciously of the lavender hand wash that Elsa kept in her bathroom. "An old what now?"  
  
"The Brixton House hasn't been a hospital for the criminally insane in over 70 years." Sam had taken his sketchpad back and resumed shading a vine-covered portico. "Formerly known as Haybershaft Hospital, it closed in 1947 due to a lack of funding, but reopened its doors last year after C.J. Brixton donated an undisclosed amount of money to the city."  
  
Casey raised a single eyebrow, her breathing finally settling a bit.“Are you quoting a news article?” Sam looked up at her and blinked in response. “Anyway,” she turned her attention to Zahid eager to bait him, “That’s just a really long, boring way of saying it’s definitely haunted but has cool countertops.”  
  
"Hold up, homie.” He sat next to Sam at the table. “You know I don't do ghosts." He looked up at Casey, “Spiritual entities are drawn to me. They can sense my sixth sense."  
  
"There are only five senses." Sam shook his head as he changed out pencils and continued shading.  
  
"Correction, young Samuel, there are six: taste, touch, smell, sight, sound, and—for a select few—pull. And I’m like, a bona fide 90% pull. The same way I pulls the ladies, I pulls the ghosts. My childhood home was across the street from a cemetery, and let me tell you, I was not getting my recommended eight hours. It was actually a pretty traumatic time in my life. There was this once ghost, Agatha, who...”   
  
Casey started to retreat from the kitchen, backing out slowly until Zahid’s babbling had grown faint. She took the stairs to her room in twos and checked her phone when she reached the top, sighing when she saw that Izzie still hadn’t texted her.   
  
She'd been waiting to hear back about their plans for the night. As usual, they’d agreed to spend Saturday night together, but hadn’t gone so far as to lay out exactly what they might do. They’d fallen into a groove since going public, though. They would either watch a movie, or take a midnight stroll, or maybe Casey would drive them around aimlessly, all four windows down and the chilly night air spilling into the car, while Izzie manned the AUX and played song after song that was laced with undertones until, finally, they'd found somewhere private to pull over and kiss. That’s exactly what had happened last time, and Casey’d been waiting for the chance to make it happen again.   
  
Working around each other’s schedules and respective obligations had been difficult, though. Izzie was busy most weeknights looking after her siblings, and she never failed to turn down Casey’s offers to help her babysit due to what could have only been pride, or shame, or some powerful combination of the two. Meanwhile, Casey seldom did anything these days short of running, hitting the weight room, or eating foods devoid of color but rich in protein fiber--so, actually, to that end, she was spending a lot of her time shitting, too. They saw one another at school, sure, but exactly how affectionate could they really be at a well-monitored private school where they had already taken the rumor mill by storm? The place where, yes, most people had accepted them and remarked on what a great couple they were, but Nate and his miserable associates still stared them down in the hallway.  
  
When a sliver of time did exist for them to seize, it was, and rapidly so. But even then, nowhere was ever private enough, quiet enough, or dark enough to do what they’d both been daydreaming about. It would have been impossible to do _those _kind of things in the light of day with Casey’s parents or Sam just down the hall. The circumstances that kept them apart were maddening to a degree that both girls got a stomach ache whenever they had to say goodbye. They were perpetually angsty as they lingered in one doorway or another, waving limply, unsure of when they’d next be able to see each other.  
  
The hindrances, it felt like, came at them from all directions. And now, to make matters worse, Izzie still hadn't texted Casey back, even though Casey had deliberately taken her extra long route, the one that spit her out a cool 4.5 miles from her house. All that extra running, careful not to sprain her ankle where sleet had built up, and Izzie still hadn't confirmed that she was, in fact, coming over as planned.

As Casey turned the shower knob and waited for the water to warm, she wondered if she’d done something to upset Izzie and hadn’t even noticed until right now. The thought filled her with instant dread and she chewed the inside of her lip as she thought about what she might have done.

She started to undress in front of the mirror, peeling layer after layer from her sticky frame. Her body had changed since Coach Crowley had taken her underwing and vowed to <strike>ruin</strike> ready her for the senior season ahead. Her arms and legs weren’t any bigger, per se, but they were leaner, and she’d noticed just yesterday that the waistband of her favorite shorts hugged her hips a little looser. Casey smiled at her reflexion.   
  
_Worth it_, she thought to herself.   
  
She took a deep breath in preparation for pulling her sports bra overhead. Her arms were still sore from yesterday’s weight training session, ie., Crowley’s latest and most hellacious weekly installment (Casey’s Friday’s were now fully booked with early AM sprints, afternoon weights, after school study hall, and evening mile-runs.)  
  
"Fuck. Fuck." She groaned, bending her elbows and pulling the tight elastic away from her body.   
  
"You better not have some other girl in there with you, Newton." Izzie’s voice from beyond the door startled her, causing Casey to trip backwards. But just in time, she caught herself on the towel rack.  
  
"Jesus!” She huffed. “Izzie?" As she spoke her girlfriend’s name, a familiar excitement began to consume her.  
  
"Yeah, Sam let me in!” She called back. “Sorry, I didn't know you were... Uh, you weren't answering my texts and I got worried because I knew you were out running, and then—" Casey cracked the bathroom door and poked her head through.  
  
Izzie’s face lit up when she saw her, and soon enough, they were both all smiles.  
  
"And then it started storming, and, I don’t know, I was worried that maybe you got hurt or something.”  
  
Casey felt her grin growing wider. Izzie blushed, tucking a hair behind her ear.  
  
“But I see now that you’re alive and well, and I totally overreacted, so..." She looked away, obviously embarrassed.  
  
"No! No, you didn't overreact. I was waiting for you to text me back. Well, not waiting, but…uh, something must be up with my phone.” She cleared her throat.  
  
And just like that, the tables had already turned and Izzie got to revel in the other girl’s nervousness. Their relationship had been that way so far, an endless tipping of the scales as one of them said too much and tried to walk it back blushing while the other looked on grinning.   
  
They stood there for a moment just smiling goofily, each a bit tickled by the mishap, until suddenly Casey became very aware of the nude body she was concealing behind the door. As if reading her mind, Izzie looked away. She focused instead on Casey’s unmade bed and the pile of crumpled-but-clean clothes beside it.  
  
Izzie rocked back and forth on her heels. “So we’re still on for tonight?”  
  
“Yeah, of course.” Casey tried not to stare at Izzie’s backside. “Definitely.”  
  
“Cool—um, well, I'm gonna go home and just come back later. I’m not really dressed for… wait, what'd we decide on?”  
  
Casey demurred. “We didn’t.”  
  
“That’s fine, we can just figure it out later.” Izzie looked now to Casey’s desk and the pile of unread books that lay on top, she bit her lip and took a deep breath. “Maybe we can drive around like last time?”   
  
There was silence.  
  
She turned around to face Casey, uncertain but smiling. Her skin had betrayed her, relinquished its olive tint from her cheeks in favor of a crimson blush.   
  
Casey’s breath caught in her throat. The mere mention of another nightly drive had spurred an eruption of goosebumps down her bare arms.   
  
“Yeah.” She nodded coolly, trying to play down her enthrallment. “Let’s do that again.”  
  
Behind her, steam had begun to fill the bathroom, and the pipes were making that eerie whining sound they sometimes did when a cold front was passing through the region. The mirror over the sink had fogged, and the falling water sprayed partly against the shower curtain.  
  
A matted lock of Casey’s damp hair fell onto her forehead as she stuck her head further out the door now. She paused to admire Izzie for a second, appreciate how easily she could pull off a pair of baggy cargo pants with way too many pockets and a tight, vintage ringer tee. Before long, she could feel herself staring but couldn’t look away.   
  
Izzie crossed her arms shyly. “What?”  
  
Casey smiled coyly, matching Izzie’s girlish uncertainty. “Can I have a kiss goodbye?”  
  
Nodding, Izzie came forward until she was within reaching distance of Casey. The wall of heat emanating from beyond the door warmed her skin, and briefly—for a second no longer than the one she’d spent listening to Casey curse when she first entered the bedroom and paused to imagine how the word _fuck_ might sound crushed between their bodies—she considered opening the door. She considered stepping into the humid bathroom and discarding her clothes so that they could shower together—or not shower at all.   
  
Their lips brushed slowly, and they smiled into the kiss, conspiring to drag it out. After a few seconds, Casey opened her mouth a little wider and let her hold on the door slacken.   
  
Izzie parted her lips in return, daring then undaring herself to slide her tongue over Casey’s. She could feel some of the misty warmth from inside the bathroom leak out and wash over her. Her face flushed as Casey sighed into her mouth longingly. Izzie could sense that she was slipping, poised to reach out and grab her girlfriend’s face—her hair, her naked body—if she didn’t regain control of the situation.   
  
She pulled apart and broke the kiss, but Casey kept her eyes closed for a couple of seconds longer, smiling peacefully.   
  
Izzie chuckled and the girl opened her eyes. “Your parents are in New York, right?”  
  
Casey rolled her eyes. “Yeah, some concert or whatever. You should’ve seen them when they left last night, it’s like they’re teenagers or something. There always whispering stuff to each other and giggling.”  
  
“That’s really sweet.” Izzie's nose crinkled as she smiled. She didn’t share Casey’s knee jerk disdain for romance, in fact, she rather liked it. She could remember Nate bringing her roses a few times, and although it was usually to apologize for being an asshole about something, the display itself never failed to melt her heart just a little.  
  
“Sam’s still gonna be here, though.” She sighed. “God forbid Edison has to go to bed alone.”  
  
Izzie nodded understandingly.   
  
Even though she knew she should have left it alone, Casey tried to pivot. “We could always hang at your house tonight?”   
  
Izzie tended to deflect in situations that involved her family, which is why, ordinarily, Casey tried to avoid putting her in situations like the one at hand. She knew there was stuff going on at Izzie's house, but she also knew what it was like to have a dysfunctional family and be embarrassed by their antics or unpredictability. After all, she _had_ been the one to catch her mother in an affair and inadvertently spill the beans to her father—how many people could say that?  
  
After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Izzie shook her head solemnly, making Casey instantly regret bringing it up. “My mom’s in one of her moods. So, maybe she comes home at 7, or maybe she doesn’t come home at all. Who knows?”  
  
She paused, locking eyes with Casey. “Either way, I don’t want it to get messed up if she does show up.”  
  
_It._  
  
Finally, someone had broached it.   
  
Acknowledged it.

Pointed at it.

Owned it for what it was.   
  
In that moment, Casey had never been surer that she and Izzie were angling for the same thing, trying to make it happen before one of them fucking exploded.   
  
Casey clenched her jaw. Her stomach was a mess of spastic butterflies hellbent on making her vomit.  
  
“Yeah, no, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked... Maybe we could go somewhere?”  
  
Izzie laughed. “Like a hotel?”  
  
Casey laughed as well. “No, not like… a hotel. Like, just drive somewhere private.”  
  
They were silent as they mulled the option over. Then, as the weight of that proposition sunk in, and it occurred to both of them that their first time might be in one of the Gardner family vehicles that Casey and Sam had been driven around in as children, they both started to laugh.  
  
Izzie jerked her chin forward. “That water’s gonna be freezing by the time you actually get in it.”   
  
Casey smiled. “I’ll see you tonight?”  
  
Izzie nodded. “You will.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Izzie leaned forward for another kiss, this one gentler, less expectant, because she knew she really was leaving this time.


	2. Al Dente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night gets off to an interesting start as Casey and Izzie have dinner with Sam and Zahid.

When Izzie returned to the Gardner household a few hours later, she had an old Jansport slung over one shoulder and a little bit of eyeliner on that she thought Casey might not notice, but of course Casey did.

She stepped into the house feeling on edge, self-conscious about the amount of perfume she’d spritzed on her neck and wrists before leaving her house. She was worried about the same thing she was always worried about these days: that she was overdoing it, coming on too strong. It was a singular anxiety, but it gripped her with the full force of a complex she couldn’t have anticipated developing.

Izzie smiled through the timidity that slowed her steps as she walked into the house.

“Hey,” she smiled at Casey.

“Hey,” Casey hesitated for a moment, then leaned in to peck her on the cheek 

“You look price.” Casey blushed as she corrected herself, “Nice. You look nice. I went to say pretty, then changed it to nice, and…” 

Izzie smiled, calmed by the mutual nervousness. “You look price, too.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” 

Casey was wearing one of her faded oversized sweaters and a pair of dark wash, straight-leg jeans. The same kind of outfit she wore every day, only now Izzie couldn’t help but notice how even the simplest articles of clothing complimented her body. Jeans made Casey look even taller than she was, and the sweaters hid a slim torso that Izzie knew was warm to the touch and ready to ripple with goosebumps if she just slipped her hand under the heavy hem to touch it. 

A sudden memory of the car ride gripped her. Izzie could remember exactly how her heart was hammering in her chest when Casey wordlessly veered the car into an abandoned parking lot. How she had next unclicked her seat belt and leaned over to kiss her without asking or twiddling her thumbs first. How Izzie had gasped when Casey’s hands—still cold from driving with the windows down—reached for her face. And Izzie had sat there for a moment, stunned to immobility, before realizing what was happening. 

“Are you not hungry?” A flicker of confusion crossed Casey’s face.

Izzie had zoned out.

Her head now shot towards the kitchen. “Did you cook for us?”

“Yeah, right.” Casey smiled coolly. “Zahid did. He's been here all day trying to talk Sam into breaking their lease."

Izzie raised an eyebrow. "They haven’t even moved in yet..."

As she locked the front door behind them, Casey snickered. "I know—I told him Brixton House was haunted.” 

Izzie shook her head and did her best not to smile—she was learning there were consequences to encouraging her girlfriend’s mischievous streak; it was all fun and games when Casey was terrorizing someone else, but the minute Izzie found herself in the crosshairs of those hijinks, she wanted to strangle her. Because even though Casey’s goofiness was one of Izzie’s favorite things about her, it was a well-known fact that Casey had a tendency to take things too far.

In fact, Casey had come right out and admitted as much a couple of weeks ago after an especially irritating prank that involved hiding Izzie’s track shoes in various spots around the girls locker room, then eventually the equipment room when she ran out of good spots. And sure, even Izzie had found it funny the first couple of times, frantically sliding around the labyrinthine gym in her ankle socks, trying to find her shoes before Crowley had her running extra wind sprints for lateness. But the rouse had gotten old quick, and when she finally _ was _late to practice one afternoon, and thereby forced to run those imminent wind sprints as the rest of the team looked on suppressing their laughter, Casey got an earful.

To be exact, Casey had gotten a molten tirade peppered with profanity and fury-spit. And she had gotten it right after practice, off to the side of the track where most of their teammates had already caught their rides home, but a few stragglers remained to gossip or flirt with some of the guys from the basketball team. 

Izzie hadn’t cared about the onlookers, though. She’d been so angry—angry at Casey for making her late, angry at Crowley for punishing her even though she hadn’t been late to practice once since enrolling at Clayton, angry at her shin splints for throbbing whether she walked, or sat, or ran. 

Mostly, though, she’d been angry that Casey just hadn’t known when to stop. Because whether they were dating or not, Izzie was still team captain and she still demanded respect. She couldn’t afford to have those rich Clayton girls thinking otherwise, second-guessing whether she really was the head honcho or not. Especially now that it was common knowledge that UCLA had their eye on Casey, not her. 

Izzie had already been struggling internally with her demotion to second best, and she knew if that insecurity started to show in her leadership of the team, she might as well be the slowest girl out there. 

“So we’ll eat,” Casey slung her arm over Izzie’s shoulders, “Then get out of here?”

Izzie nodded, smiling. “What’re we having?”

“Well, you and Zahid are having some ridiculous pasta thing that he says is lasagna, but, like, it’s totally not lasagna. Still smells pretty good, though. Sam’s gonna have butter noodles—big surprise. And I’m gonna have yet another boiled, skinless chicken breast.” 

Izzie grimaced. “Again?”

Casey walked them towards the fragrant kitchen. “The glory of Elsa’s meal prepping. You know her and Crowley are texting now?”

“What?” She laughed, sliding her arm around Casey’s waist. “Why?”

“To track my calories. Really make sure I’m as miserable as humanly possible, you know?” Casey turned to her, smiling. 

With their faces a few inches apart, Izzie stilled them and kissed her. She wanted to savor the last few seconds of privacy before sitting down to eat with Casey’s brother and his friend. 

Casey smiled down at her. “Feeling a little less miserable already.”

“You’re so cheesy.” Izzie kissed her again.

They stood outside the kitchen kissing for another few seconds before the sound of Zahid laughing at one of his own jokes interrupted them. Slowly, they pulled apart and smiled at each other.

“I’m glad we’re hanging out tonight,” Casey stared at Izzie’s lips as she spoke.

“Me, too.” Izzie nodded, her gaze jumping from Casey’s eyes to her lips. 

Dinner commenced over boisterous laughter and teasing as Casey continued to regale the group with horror stories about Ava Brixton—the Brixton family’s hysterical matriarch who was committed before she could tarnish the highly esteemed family name. 

The story Casey devised was a simple one with historical iterations of it unfolding across the world: there once was a woman with too many opinions and too much money to outright silence her, so the men in her life—the ones she trusted most, like her brothers and her husband—hatched a plan to get rid of her. 

“But here’s where things get weird.” Casey set her glass of water down. “So, obviously Ava Brixton wasn’t, like, actually crazy when her family committed her. But after a couple of months in that place, she started acting… different.”

Izzie shook her head. She’d eaten most of the lasagna Zahid had prepared for them and was feeling pleasantly full. “Who wouldn’t be different after going through something like that?”

“No.” Casey held her hand up in protest. “It wasn’t just her. It was everyone. All the patients. It was like she had this power over them. Like, when she cut all her hair off, everyone else cut theirs off too. And when she took a vow of silence? Everyone else stopped talking the exact same day.” 

Casey locked eyes with Zahid before continuing. “The hospital got so quiet that even the nurses were afraid to speak to each other, because they could feel it coming…”

“Feel what coming?!” Zahid’s knuckles were pale from gripping the table so hard, and he kept leaning forward mesmerized by the tale, then recoiling whenever another terrifying detail was uncovered. 

Izzie shot her a cautionary look, a silent plea to take it down a notch before Zahid pissed himself. In response, Casey winked at her, prompting yet another failed attempt for Izzie to contain her smile. 

“They could feel that something bad was about to happen.” Casey cut into her half-eaten chicken breast for dramatic effect, slicing it roughly down the middle.

Izzie kicked her under the table. 

“Ow.” She laughed, biting into a chunk of the pale meat. 

“So—so what happened?” Zahid undid a button of his shirt and fanned himself. The silk dress shirt was splotched with two small sweat stains under each of his armpits. 

“Well,” Casey waved her fork around, “There’s some debate there.” 

She took her time sipping her water, building the suspense. “See, the hospital had just hired this new nurse and she didn’t know all the rules yet. So one day the phone rang, and she answered it—” Casey held her hand up to her ear like a phone, “_Haybershaft Hospital, this is Nurse Gretchen.” _

Zahid’s eyes bulged and Izzie fought back a chuckle. Sam fidgeted at the far end of the table. He’d been quiet over dinner, mostly because he’d been waiting for the right opportunity to interject. 

“Some say the minute she spoke those words, a huge fire broke out. Like, flames so high you could see them from across the city, and everyone died—burned to a crisp. Others say a riot broke out and all the patients turned on the nurses. Picked them off one by one.”

Zahid squealed, making everyone at the table flinch. “Sam! We _ cannot _live there!”

Sam’s eyebrows knit together. Finally, he’d found his in. “Wait, so, what about Ava Brixton?”

“Yeah, Casey.” Izzie smirked, leaning back in her chair. “What about Ava Brixton?” Clearly her girlfriend had forgotten the entire premise of her spooky story. 

Casey turned to her then, one corner of her mouth drawn as she volleyed a smirk of her own right back. And where Izzie’s smug lips had challenged _ What now? _ Casey’s had answered _ Watch this. _

“Good question!” Casey turned her attention back to her brother. She set her fork down slowly to buy herself more time. “Ava Brixton died in the basement of the hospital during the fire. It’s mainly the basement that’s haunted, actually, so you guys’ll probably be fine up on the sixth floor.” 

Casey smiled triumphantly, satisfied with her quick thinking. 

Zahid rubbed his temples and Izzie rolled her eyes. But Sam being Sam, he bristled. 

Since his adolescence he’d had a gift for pinpointing inconsistencies, and catching people in lies they didn’t always realize they were telling. And the more Casey went on about the history of Brixton House—none of which was corroborated by his cursory research—the more her story seemed to stretch and stretch until it was full of gaping holes. 

“But I thought only some people think there was a fire?” Sam sniffed.

Casey sighed, irritated by the endlessness of her fable. “Well, yeah, but in the other version of the story she dies in the basement, too.”

Izzie crossed her arms and rested her elbows on the table. She leaned forward, that playful glint in her dark eyes renewed by seeing Casey scramble. 

“She...” Casey took a deep breath. “Dressed up like a nurse during the riot to, uh... try and escape, but then one of the patients found her and killed her by mistake.” 

“Wait,” Izzie shook her head, “But earlier you said—” 

Zahid stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loud and discordant over the floor. As everyone’s heads snapped up to look at him, they found a pitiful, perspiring version of the young man that had been serenading them with unsolicited 90’s r&b covers a mere hour ago. 

“I can’t live there, Sam. It’s not gonna happen, buddy.” The hair on his forehead was damp, and he’d taken off his glasses to rub his wild eyes. 

A thick silence coated the room as Zahid stood there looking around the table at everyone. And before anyone could even think to pierce that silence by asking him if he was okay, he started to collect everyone’s plates from the table. 

“Don’t, Zahid.” Izzie stood up, smiling nervously. “We’ll wash the dishes. You cooked!” 

Zahid shook his head, continuing to stack their plates in his arms. “I got it.”

That’s when Izzie noticed he’d hardly touched his lasagna, despite (literally) singing its praises as he’d shoveled a square of it onto her plate. It was a Frankenstein dish comprised of four cheeses and three different types of pasta, none of which were suited for lasagna. But despite its questionable origins, it had been delicious. 

Far too good for Zahid to have left it untouched. 

Izzie looked to Casey with worried eyes. 

Casey, picking up on the cue for once in her life, rose from the table. “Come on, Zahid. Let us get the dishes, dude.” 

But he’d already turned his back and was headed for the kitchen. 

Now it was Casey who looked to Izzie, her cool facade diminished by the unexpected seriousness that had entered the room. A subtle panic set in, spurring so negligible a change in Casey’s face that only Elsa—or Izzie, who'd been studying up on the many microexpressions of Casey Gardner—could have spotted it.

Izzie opened her mouth to speak, but Sam interrupted her. 

“I didn’t read about any of that in the pamphlet, Casey.” His lips were glistening from the bowl of butter noodles he’d eaten. “Are you sure that’s what happened?”

“It’s probably just a myth, Sam.” Casey shrugged uneasily, sinking back into her chair and feeling a knot of guilt settle in her stomach. She listened as Zahid set the ceramic plates down and ran the faucet. 

Sam shook his head, unlocking his phone. “I didn’t read about any myths like that, either.” 

Izzie looked back and forth between the siblings in disbelief. 

She sighed, then quietly pushed her chair in and followed after Zahid, unprepared to console someone she didn’t know all that well, and yet, somehow still infinitely more prepared to apologize for Casey’s behavior than Casey was.

At the kitchen sink, Zahid was prying a rather resilient scrap of penne off the bottom of a red pot. He was still muttering to himself as Izzie approached him.

He dunked the pot back under water. “It’s almost 2020, how are these people still cooking with non-anodized pots?”

Izzie chuckled, admiring the vintage cookware. For obvious reasons, she would never say so to Casey, but she thought Elsa had style; good taste in movies and music, too. 

“Your lasagna was really good.” She stepped closer to the sink until they were shoulder to shoulder. 

Zahid pushed his glasses up his face. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” She asked.

He sighed, then gestured back and forth between them. “This. Try to make me feel better.”

Zahid didn’t know much about Izzie other than that she was Casey’s girlfriend, and she was beautiful, and her presence around the Gardner household meant that he was now sharing his coveted role as the beloved, ethnic family friend. And although he was still sussing her out, he liked what he’d seen so far. 

For starters, he’d noticed that Izzie was nice to Elsa—and that saint of a delicious smelling woman deserved some damn respect, as far as he was concerned. Izzie was nice to Sam, too, and not in a condescending or obligatory way. She didn’t baby him, or take offense to his bluntness how customers at Techtropolis sometimes did. In fact, for someone that looked like her—see: hot as fuck—Izzie was surprisingly down to earth. Hell, she’d even argued on behalf of his lasagna when Casey said it was just _ really cheesy spaghetti _(which it most certainly was not).

The more Zahid interacted with Izzie, the more he warmed up to the idea of sharing some of the Gardner spotlight with her. And as she stood next to him at the sink now, pretending not to notice that his hands were still trembling, he decided he’d only found another reason to like her. 

“I already know what you’re gonna tell me.” He grabbed a plate and submerged it in the sink.

Izzie raised her eyebrows. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “It was just a stupid story, I’m overreacting, blah blah blah.”

“Actually,” Izzie reached for the plate as he withdrew it from the sudsy water, “All I was going to say was: you wash, I’ll dry.” She brandished the floral dish towel that had once been draped over the oven handle. 

Zahid smiled coyly. “I know Casey was just messing with me."

Izzie shrugged. “She messes with everyone. It’s pretty much the only way to know if she likes you.”

_ Well, that and making out with her in the middle of an empty track after you’ve had to hunt her down_—_practically stalk her, really_—_because she’s purposely avoiding you and refuses to process her feelings. _Izzie tried not to smile as the memory of their first kiss came back to her. 

Zahid nodded, handing over two gleaming forks. “I mean, I get why people think I exaggerate things.” He gestured to his ensemble—a silk button-down, crisp white jeans, and a bright pair of high-top Jordans—“I got a whole lotta flair, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

He paused then, looking more serious than Izzie had ever seen him. “Me and the supernatural don’t get along, though. My old roommate says all the men in our family are _ sensitive _ to bhoots, which is just a flyer way of saying _ ghosts_.”

“I get it.” Izzie nodded. “After my aunt died I started seeing weird stuff around our house.”

Zahid stopped rinsing. “For real?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want anyone to think I was crazy though, so I just never said anything.” Izzie set the cutlery down in the drying rack. 

“So then you get why I can’t live at that place.” He pointed to a thin gold chain around his neck. “Even if Casey Case was just yankin’ my bling.” 

Izzie laughed as he passed her a small glass bowl. “Yeah, I get it.”

They washed and dried in silence for a couple of minutes before Izzie turned to him. “But you know, Sam really likes that drawing nook..” 

Zahid sucked his teeth. “It’s just a big ass closet.”

“A big ass closet that would make him really happy.” She raised her eyebrows and bit her lip.

“Only way I’m moving into Brixton House is if the Ghostbusters hit it first.” He looked off, sighing fondly. “Man, I love Melissa McCarthy.”

Izzie grabbed his shoulder. “Let’s do it!” 

“Do what?” 

“Well, if we can prove it’s not haunted—”

“_We?_”

Excitement pulsed through her. “Yes, we! We’ll go tonight. Why not?”

Zahid laughed nervously as he lathered the last item in the sink, a splotched casserole dish. “Well for starters, you’re on a date...”

Izzie smiled, imagining leaning into Casey as they descended down a dimly lit hallway or an eerie elevator. “Ghost hunting is definitely a date.” 

He shrugged, handing her the casserole dish. "I mean, I wouldn't pin on my P-double-D board, but..." 

“Your what?”

“My Panty Dropper Dates board.” He grimaced. “It's almost 2020... Don’t tell me you’re still not on Pinterest…” 

In the dining room, Casey was still trying to hear what Izzie and Zahid were talking about in the kitchen. She strained her neck, leaning back in her chair as far as she could without falling. Alas, her eavesdropping efforts were to no avail as Sam loudly droned on and on about there being no ‘Ava Brixton’ listed in the Haybershaft Hospital records. He was scrolling through his phone at the speed of lightning, rattling off the names of all former patients as were listed in a PDF copy of a 1942 newspaper.

He turned his phone around to face her. “See, there’s no Ava Brixton listed in the A-names or the B-names.” 

“Okay, Sam! Jesus!” She threw her hands up in defeat. “You caught me! I made it all up, happy now?”

Sam tilted his head as he finished reading the article. “Not really, no.” 

Casey stood up from her chair and walked gingerly towards the kitchen entrance where Izzie’s face finally came into view. She couldn’t read her lips, but she could see Zahid shaking his head every so often as Izzie nodded in response, as if insisting on something. 

“Did you know C.J. Brixton is running for mayor next year?” Sam called over his shoulder, but didn’t bother to look up from his phone. "His full name is Cassius Jeremy Brixton."

Casey sighed and cracked her knuckles idly. 

“Yeah, I'd go by C.J. if my name was that dorky, too." She whispered under her breath. 

As Sam began to read news of C.J. Brixton’s mayoral plans, Izzie moved away from the sink and back towards the dining room. Casey sprang away from the doorway, tiptoeing hurriedly back to her seat and nearly falling out of it as she rushed to sit down.

Izzie leaned against the jutting edge of table beside her chair. She smiled curiously as Casey looked up at her not unlike a child expecting a stern talking to. 

“We’re going to Brixton House.” Izzie waved Zahid in from the kitchen. He approached the table timidly, practically hiding behind Izzie. 

Casey’s eyes darted to him as he cowered. “What?” 

“Me, you, Zahid, and Sam, too, if he wants to come.” Izzie clapped Zahid on the shoulder. “We’re going to show them that their apartment is _ not _ haunted, and there is _ no _reason they need to break their lease.” 

Zahid popped his head up over Izzie’s shoulder, wincing. “I tried to talk her out of it!”

Casey stammered. “But—we—Iz, come on.”

Sam stood up from the table. “I’ll go, but only because I need to get measurements for my nook.”

Casey lowered her voice to a whisper, “What about about tonight?”

Izzie tucked a lock of raven hair behind her ear and smiled down at her pouting girlfriend. “Get up, Nurse Gretchen.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind words and kudos!  
If you catch an errant keystroke or two, those are compliments of my cat.  



	3. Dumb Teenager Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey, Izzie, Sam, and Zahid head out for their trip to Brixton House.

From the moment Izzie first told her they were going to Brixton, Casey had felt nothing but frustration and incredulity as she watched everyone get ready around her. 

The spontaneous trip had struck ludicrous excitement in the gang, Zahid stealing off to the garage for flashlights, and Sam running upstairs to tell Edison he would be right back. Even Izzie, who was toying with the zipper on her jacket—pretending not to feel Casey’s furious eyes on her—had succumbed to some of the enthrallment as she waited by the front door. 

“Are we seriously doing this?” Casey’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest.

Izzie shrugged, a smidgen annoyed by the attitude. “I’m just trying to make things right.” 

“Make things right?” Casey scoffed, running a hand through her messy hair. “ Gimme a break, Iz. It was a joke.”

Izzie stared at her, disbelief saturating her features. “Well maybe it was a joke you took too far.”

“Hold on, I took it too far?” She sneered now. Her slim hands were turned inward, fingertips brushing her chest. “Me?” 

Izzie narrowed her eyes. “Shocking that you would ever overdo something, I know.”

Casey laughed meanly, a breathy chuckle issued from the back of her throat. “Okay, Izzie. You’re literally making me drive across town to search for a ghost I made up two hours ago—but yeah, I’m overdoing it.”

“It’s not _ for _ me_, _Casey. It’s for—”

A blinding light shone across their faces, making them both wince. 

“Let there be light!” Zahid was holding a flashlight overhead, bearing it as if a majestic burning torch. 

He sauntered over to them, clicking and unclicking the button at the base of the large red flashlight. 

“Got one for you, too, mamacita.” He extended a smaller, metallic flashlight towards Izzie.

“Of course you did.” Casey rolled her eyes. “I’ll be in the car."

The drive to Brixton House involved all of four right turns once they’d finally made their way out of the Gardner’s winding, suburban neighborhood. 

One of Elsa’s conditions for letting Sam live on his own had been that wherever he and Zahid ultimately decided to stay needed to be within a 30-minute drive of the house. Although, a special allowance had been made for Brixton House—which clocked in at exactly 34 minutes away—because it had been impossible to deny Sam’s obsession with a certain closet that he planned to use as a writing nook. 

“There aren’t any windows. Obviously, it’s supposed to be a closet. But there is a light, so I won’t even need to buy a desk lamp. I probably will, though, just in case.” Sam was smiling as she spoke to Izzie, who’d just turned around in her seat to ask him about the measurements he'd be taking. “Or maybe I won’t. I’m not even sure my desk will fit. I might need to use a drafting table instead, which would be good for conserving space but bad for my back.”

Casey stopped at a red light, annoyed to sighing. The first of her four turns lay just ahead, and she readjusted her arm on the center console as she eyeballed it. Izzie had claimed the other half of the arm rest for herself after they’d gotten in the car, but ever since they’d first backed out of the driveway she’d been inching over to Casey’s side. 

“So, wait, what’s the difference between a drawing _ nook _ and a drawing _ studio_?” Izzie asked, her elbow jostling Casey’s arm. 

Sucking her teeth loudly enough that she knew she’d be heard, Casey jerked her arm away from the console. She set both of her hands on the steering wheel at a perfect 10-and-2 position and stared ahead at the road. As Izzie’s eyes bore into her, she gripped the leather ridges of the wheel cover.

“Seriously?” Izzie muttered, abandoning the console herself. 

“Well, I should probably keep both hands on the wheel,” Casey muttered back, glaring at Zahid in the rear view mirror, “I wouldn’t want to _ scare _ anyone.”

Zahid, for his part, was too busy to notice the daggers being stared at him. Talking with Izzie in the kitchen had calmed his nerves, but the journey to Brixton had set him back on edge. His hands were starting to tremble again, and a serious case of cottonmouth was desiccating his tongue. 

Stressed, Zahid held his phone closer to his face, poring over a downloadable copy of his lease. If there was a single loophole to be found in the 26 pages of comically miniature legal jargon, by god, he was going to find it. And if not? If he and Sam were forced to pay some crazy fine for breaking their lease? Well, he had already made peace with the idea of helping a newly divorced Bob revamp his Tinder profile in exchange for an advance. 

Sitting beside Zahid in the backseat, Sam was also engrossed in his phone. He was conducting yet another round of research on the Brixton family, drinking their heavily publicized family drama in and storing it for future deployment (probably against Casey, who he’d noticed brooding at the steering wheel). 

Izzie, still turned in her seat, took a last look at the pair of dorky boys before spinning back around. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes. 

This certainly wasn’t how she’d pictured spending her night, but she liked hanging out with Casey’s family—Zahid being an honorary member by everyone’s standards. And why wouldn’t she? When else in her day-to-day life did she get to do insane—and, frankly, questionable—things like drop everything to go investigate an ex-asylum?

Izzie’s life didn’t exactly allow for that kind of stuff. 

The onus of responsibility was on her at all times, and had been for so long now that she genuinely couldn’t remember things being any other way. She couldn’t recall how it felt to sleep in, unroused by a crying baby or manic mother; or, what it was like to buy groceries on any day of the week other than Thursday, which is when the markets sold their old produce for half-price, and cheapest cuts of meat in bulk; or, why the sight of blood had ever made her feel woozy now that she’d mastered the art of applying disinfectant to the perpetually scraped knees of adolescent children. 

Getting into shenanigans with the Gardner gang tonight felt deserved. Like winning a prize for never getting to fully partake in dumb teenager shit—only the prize _ was _ dumb teenager shit! 

Izzie fidgeted with one of her earrings and smiled at the thought, imagining herself walking onto a stage and accepting one of those massive checks made out to her for the amount of _ Dumb Teenager Shit and 0/100 cents._

The car slowed, draped in darkness, as they passed through a sleepy residential area. The neighborhood was full of wide, multi-story houses with brick and vinyl exteriors. Some of the homes had large lunette windows, or narrow porches that ran the full length of painted staircases and banisters. Others had simple gable roofs, gussied up with ornate rafters and trim. Some had attics that’d been converted into mother-in-law suites or playrooms. And others, just a handful of the houses they’d passed, were so small and withered that Izzie doubted anyone lived there at all. 

Overhead, the night sky was black, illuminated here and there by the soft orange glow of street lamps. The stars were stark against the sky, tiny and brilliant the further they traveled away from downtown Hartford. 

Casey made a second turn, this time onto a main road. The scenery changed instantly, either side of the wide street now lined with local businesses and historic brick buildings. When Casey changed lanes to overtake an unhurried hatchback, Izzie marveled as the symmetry of a small athenaeum and glass-front museum blurred in motion.

She sighed contently, cracking her window, allowing some of the crisp, Fall air inside. In response, Casey reached forward and turned the heat up. As the cold wind washed over her angular face and alighted her hair, Izzie almost laughed. 

All of this had been worth it—even if it was costing her a serious temper tantrum from her girlfriend. 

Zahid set his phone down in the cup holder and groaned. “They played us, dude.” He threw his head back and sighed. 

Sam looked up from his phone. “What?”

“Fireplace, granite countertops, a private balcony big enough to reenact that scene from Titanic—there’s no way we should’ve been able to afford that!” Zahid shook his head frantically. 

“But you like all of that stuff.” Sam turned his attention back to his phone, far more interested in the late Inez Brixton’s collection of exotic animals.

“Who cares if I like it?” Zahid whined. “We should’ve been slummin’ it with all the other chumps on campus… sharing a cell-sized room and making Chef Boyardee on a thrift store hotplate.”

“No,” Sam shook his head, “I don’t like Chef Boyardee.”

Zahid pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Nobody likes Chef Boyardee, Sam. That’s not the point.” 

“Hey, I like Chef Boyardee.” Izzie called over her shoulder, giggling. 

“Again—” Zahid held up his hand. “Not the point.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he sat up in his seat. “Then what is the point?”

“The point is: we got too big for our britches, we tried to run before we could walk, we leaped from the nest before we knew how to fly...” Zahid made his hands into a bird and pantomimed flight. 

Casey huffed as she navigated around a few cars parked street-side. 

The sound of everyone’s chit chat was driving her up a wall, and she was starting to get one of those ice pick headaches. Every thirty seconds or so, a sharp stabbing pain shot from the back of her head through to the front of her left eye. 

As Casey tried to will the pain away without causing an accident, she thought back to the events that had preceded their departure, how she’d nearly—just nearly—avoided any part of the insanity she was sitting party to. 

Fifteen minutes ago, before any flashlights had been retrieved or turtles bade farewell, before they’d all piled into the station wagon and waited for the engine to warm up, there had been a sliver of hope that Casey’s big plans wouldn’t be ruined after all. 

And that was because 15 minutes ago, when the buzz of the trip had first begun to sink in, Zahid had realized, rather theatrically as he patted every pocket on his body, that he didn’t even have his key with him. There would be no way for them to get into the apartment, let alone explore its ghastly nooks and crannies. 

Casey had feigned a frown, of course, pretended to be bummed about the whole thing, but internally she’d been jumping for joy, chewing her lip to keep from grinning like she’d just won the lottery. And when Izzie and Zahid started brainstorming new ways to get into the apartment, Casey had been silent, for she was too hard at work thanking whatever karmic forces had let her off the hook just this once. 

But then she’d noticed something rather concerning: a certain someone digging around in his khakis pocket.

“Sam—” she’d started to say, started to beg. 

But already he was retracting his hand, clasping something small and brass-colored. 

_ Don’t do it. _

_ Don’t do it. _

_ Don’t do it._

“We can go. I have my key right here.” Sam held a freshly minted key up for everyone to see. 

Of course. Of course her brother had smartly threaded his new key onto his keyring, exactly as Elsa had instructed him to when he first came home with it. And of course by doing so he had saved the day. And of course they were going to Brixton House after all, even if it meant less time for her and Izzie, who never got to see each other anyway. 

Of course they were going to go wave flashlights around a million-dollar apartment complex that had hundreds of working lights and exactly zero fucking ghosts. Of course! 

A needle-like jab at the base of Casey’s head pulled her from her thoughts. She inhaled sharply as she took the penultimate turn, this one a wide, c-shaped bend in the lane that led the car down a smooth road. The dimly lit path ahead was flecked with kempt brush and intricate lamp posts emitting soft, amber-yellow light. 

Casey winced through another jab that made her left eye twinge as it passed. 

If she was honest with herself—if she peeled back the layers of her superficial emotions to expose the complicated ones beneath—she knew there was more to the way she was feeling than a ruined date night.

As crazy as it sounded, Casey wasn’t even all that mad at the people she wanted to strangle right now. She wasn’t mad at Zahid for getting scared, or Sam for having his key, or even Izzie for completely changing their plans on a whim. Those were all things that—while annoying—had very little to do with how impatient, snappy, and angry she’d been feeling lately. 

And the closer she got now to Sam’s apartment, the more unavoidable her real problem became: freedom. Or, more aptly, a lack thereof. 

When Sam came home after first signing his lease last week, Casey had watched as Elsa took his picture in front of the fridge, then again in the living room, then again over dinner when she thought he wasn’t looking. Their mother had then pinned the lease to the fridge using her favorite cactus magnet, and proceeded to sigh at the document every time she passed by. 

Casey hadn’t understood all the fawning. Sam was moving right across town, not across the country. It wasn’t a big deal—or, at least it hadn’t seemed like one. At first. 

But then Casey's training had picked up, and so had Izzie’s because this was their last season to really attract the best universities, preferably ones that weren’t too far apart if they couldn’t both score full rides to UCLA. During the last month especially, especially, any free time she and Izzie might’ve spent exploring their new relationship had been repurposed for training, studying, and/or touring colleges. 

If the schedule clashes hadn’t been frustrating enough, everything from Casey’s diet to her curfew had also changed. It felt like every time she got adjusted to one rule, a brand new one cropped up. The growing restrictions made her cranky, or, as Elsa had phrased it just a few days ago: _ meaner than usual. _

But who wouldn’t be grouchy with the ground constantly shifting under their feet? Crowley was testing Casey almost as much mentally as she was physically these days. Like when she invited two freshmen sprinters from UCONN to lead a last-minute Saturday workout, even though up until that point, Casey was getting Saturdays off to rest. Not only had the change taken her desperate shins by surprise, but it had also forced her to bail on plans she’d already made with Sharice. 

Combined, all the rules—and Casey’s inability to break them—had started to sour her. Even her dad, who by comparative standards was supposed to be on her side, had started to pick at her: _What_, y_ou think those UCLA kids sleep in? You don’t have training today? You’re allowed to eat Oreos on that fancy diet? _

Watching Sam come into his independence when_ she _ couldn’t even stare at a processed sugar for too long without someone cracking down on her, well, that was making her feel crazy and sensitive and jealous.

And the worst part was, everything that she had been and would be subjected to was entirely her own fault, because _ she _had agreed to put in the work. She had decided she was strong enough, committed enough, to endure whatever it took to make sure that when signing day rolled around, she got to put on a Bruins hat and smile for the camera. 

Casey winced once more as the unwelcome sensation pierce her skull.

She knew there was a light at the end of her tunnel, but it was impossible to see on a night like this—after one more little thing had been decided for her, and her only option had been to adapt. 

Ten minutes passed with Casey driving down the shadowy, even street. A simple movie reference had launched Izzie and Zahid into a debate about the pros and cons of interpretive endings, and wherever there was a break in their conversation, Sam was swiftly reporting his latest findings on the Brixton family. 

Izzie craned her neck, smiling. “Okay. I get all of that, but how can you feel satisfied if you finish a movie and still don’t _ really _know what happened? 

“Eh.” Zahid shrugged. “Daddy likes a little confusion with his popcorn.” 

“Not me.” Izzie shook her head. She stole a look at Casey. “I wanna know exactly what’s going on.”

As Izzie took in Casey’s focused eyes and her slackened grip on the wheel, she realized her girlfriend was lost in thought.

Izzie sighed. She wasn’t interested in spending the rest of their night like this. Fighting, pretending they didn’t want to talk, or kiss, or weren’t both wondering what might happen later tonight, after they got back home and knew Sam had fallen asleep. 

Neither of them wanted to have sex with Casey’s brother right next door. Or with Elsa downstairs in the kitchen. Or with Doug downstairs in the living room. It wasn’t romantic. Shit, it wasn’t even normal. And even if it had somehow been both of those things, Izzie knew Elsa was trusting her not to break any unspoken house rules this weekend:

_ \- Don’t throw a party. _

\- _Don’t break anything._

\- _Don’t throw a party with people who break things._

\- _Don’t have sex if you’re not home alone, which you won’t be._

\- _Don’t have sex if Sam’s home, which he will be. _

\- _Don’t have sex even if you really want to and you’re pretty sure Sam’s asleep. _

As much as Izzie didn’t want to let Elsa—who’d become a reliable, maternal figure in her life—down, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold out. In fact, she was fairly certain she wouldn’t. 

When she'd first saw Casey tonight, wearing that faded Yale sweater she loved and smiling down at her with those full pink lips, Izzie’d been fully prepared to risk it all and have the quietest sex possible the minute Sam went to bed. To bite back her moans as they touched and whispered, desperate for it. 

But now, as she stared at her still zoned-out girlfriend, Izzie wasn’t even sure they’d be sharing the same bed tonight. Casey might just roll out her handy-dandy sleeping bag. Again. 

Behind them, Sam was descending upon the newfound silence. “Listen to this, Zahid: _ Brixton’s bid comes in the wake of opening a new luxury apartment complex on the outskirts of Denton University. Haybershaft Hospital _ —_now Brixton House_—_is known most notoriously for housing psychologically disturbed patients from 1941 to its eventual closure in early 1947 due to mismanagement.” _He turned to Zahid. “There’s nothing about a fire or a riot murder spree, I double checked.”

“What else does it say, Sam?” Izzie asked, gunning for a distraction from the knot that was forming in her stomach. 

Sam gazed down at his phone, thumb brushing the screen as he scrolled. “_Boasting an eight-figure renovation, the building’s current form is a far cry from the macabre pillar it once was. When asked to comment on the seemingly random restoration, native Nutmegger and businessman C.J. Brixton noted the hospital’s place in his childhood and Hartford’s architectural prestige as two motivating factors: ‘I was just a little boy when they built that hospital on the other side of the river. I could see it from my bedroom window! Everybody was scared of it the minute it went up. Too much stigma surrounding mental health, back then. But when I look at that building, I see a true work of Hartford craftsmanship begging for a second chance. You just hate to see that kind of hometown beauty go to waste over ignorance._”

“What a load of shit.” Casey scoffed, her trance broken. 

Izzie perked up. “She talks!”

Casey smiled before she could catch herself. 

“Whaaaat? And she smiles?” Izzie was beaming now. “I was starting to think this toy was broken.”

Casey let out an apologetic sigh. “No, this toy was just being a butthead.” She smiled weakly, trying to keep her eyes on the road, but also trying to face Izzie as she said what she needed to say. “I’m really—”

“Zahid says you can’t put a price on good vibes, so, I don’t think C.J. Brixton’s plan is going to work.” Sam was leaning forward, turning off the little vent built into the back of the center console. 

Even with Izzie’s window cracked, the back of the car had become stuffy, and he was ready to get out of the car and stretch his legs. 

Zahid raised an eyebrow suspiciously, “That Brixton guy said he was born in the 40s?”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “He said he was a little boy in 1941.”

Casey laughed. “Yeah, so he was probably born in the 30s.”

Instantly, Casey could feel the weight of her self-imposed silence lift from her shoulders. It had taken everything in her power not to give in and have a good time, but now, as a cast-iron entry gate came into focus—and off in the distance behind it, a marvelous and domical brick building—she realized it was her that had been sabotaging the night. Not Izzie. And not those two dorks in the backseat, either. 

She glanced at her girlfriend, who shot her an amused look. 

“So we’re just gonna pretend that dude isn’t legit ancient?” Zahid was looking around the car, locking eyes with everyone before adding, “It’s almost 2020.”

“Zahid.” Curious, Izzie turned around in her seat, “What is with you and 2020?”

Before he could answer her, Sam chimed back in. “Wait, what do luxury apartments have to do with hometown beauty?” 

“Absolutely nothing.” Casey slowed the car to take the fourth and final turn carefully, knowing the road was slick even where it wasn’t glistening. 

“After me and… you know, _that person_, broke up, I went to see this mystic and she told me I was going to emerge from the flames of 2019 and soar into 2020 like a—wait for it—dragon.” He smiled proudly, shoulders squared, head high. 

Izzie stared at him confused as Casey stifled her laughter. 

“Hello,” Zahid gestured to himself, “I’ve been calling myself _ The Dragon _ since I was, like, 10-years-old. So anyway, you know, I kind of thought Emerald—the mystic—was a con artist at first, but after she said that, I knew she was the real deal.”

“Right…” Izzie nodded politely. She turned back around as Zahid and Sam began to talk amongst themselves again.

The car rolled towards the entry gate and Casey glanced beside her, eyes landing first on Izzie’s soft lips, then her dark eyes, then her glossy hair. 

“Hey.” She whispered, waiting for Izzie to look at her. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

Izzie nodded. “Yeah, well…” She nodded towards Sam and Zahid in the backseat. “I probably should’ve asked you before I just changed everything.”

“No, no.” Casey shook her head, then glanced back at Sam and Zahid. She started to chuckle, “Okay, yeah, you should’ve...but, thank you. You know, for doing this. Trying to make things right.”

“Anytime, butthead.” 

Then, and without letting go as the large gate doors swung open and invited the car onto a seemingly interminable cobblestone driveway, Izzie took her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I didn't set out to write a 4,000-word, 30-minute car ride scene. I am not a psychopath. Thanks for reading.


	4. What Lives Beyond the Stairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Brixton House.

If Sam’s drawing hadn’t done Brixton House justice, then standing before it in the middle of the night certainly did. 

After clearing the entry gate, they’d driven through nearly half a mile of garden planted strategically to obscure parts of the building, which had been a regular target of vandalism for over seventy years now. Passing through the meticulous landscaping had only heightened the suspense, though, left everyone speechless as they pressed on. 

Now a solitary building stood before them. It loomed over the surrounding property in its magnificence, bordered by tall, symmetrical hedges and lit up on all sides by tasteful exterior lighting. The red-brick masonry was aged but clean, and a smooth stonework base connected the building’s grand facade to a wide set of front steps. 

Even on a night as cold and dreary as this, its elegance couldn’t be masked. 

Izzie was the first to step out of the car. She looked up at the towering structure, admiring it with wide eyes and a wider smile. “Damn, guys.”

Sam walked up next to her, directing his stare forward. “The superstructure of the building was designed by three different—”

“Sam!” Casey’s head popped up over the roof of car, “No more fun facts, please!”

Zahid remained in the car, taking longer than necessary to unbuckle his seatbelt. He reached for the door slowly, mustering the courage to open it. Izzie watched him as he finally emerged. She shot him a reassuring smile. 

Casey pranced up the front steps of the building, taking them three, sometimes four, at a time. She felt powerful as her calves flexed and lifted her body easily, but also grateful for small, normal-sized steps rather than the huge concrete ones she’d had to clear whenever Crowley made her run stadiums. 

Izzie followed closely behind, smiling as she watched her lanky girlfriend hop and leap. Sam and Zahid tailed the group, looking on as Casey held the door open for them.

“Wait,” Zahid said, stepping in front of Sam, “Everyone knows last in line is the first to die.” He craned his neck to look back at Sam. “Sorry, man.”

The four of them idled in the wide atrium for a moment, looking around and taking in their new surroundings. The contemporary decor inside was at stark odds with the vintage exterior, but everything from the sitting furniture to the wall art was tastefully done. 

Across the room was a long desk that Casey guessed was usually manned in the light of day, probably by a pert leasing agent looking to rope new residents in. A banner above the desk read _Welcome to Brixton House - Now leasing for 2020. _Casey smiled to herself thinking about how odd a pair Zahid and Sam must have looked when they first came in asking for a tour. She could only imagine the ridiculous questions they'd asked whatever lucky leasing agent had shown them around. 

She turned to make a joke about it to Izzie, but noticed she'd fallen back to walk with Zahid. The two of them were turned around now, facing the doors they'd just come in through, talking about something quietly. 

Sam walked up next to Casey and unzipped his hoodie. 

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned to her. “What are we waiting for?” 

Casey laughed. “I don’t live here, dude.” 

He nodded, then took off in the direction of a wide inlet. Casey followed after him, noticing two elevators just around the bend.

Sam reached for one of the buttons and its small circumference lit up bright orange after he pressed it. He stepped back from the doors and waited next to her. 

“It’s 108 stairs if you don’t want to take the elevator. I like the stairwell because it’s quiet and nobody uses it, but Zahid says I have to take the elevator if I want my knees to work when I’m older.” 

Casey chuckled. As baseless as Zahid’s words of wisdom sometimes were, hearing her brother profess them with his signature seriousness always made her laugh. 

She glanced back at Izzie and Zahid again. They’d fallen behind, but were walking towards them now. Izzie smiled at her for a second, then turned her attention back to Zahid who was saying something to her. 

_ Ding. _

The elevator doors parted slowly, revealing a normal-looking couple who smiled at them as they disembarked. They were both blonde and well-dressed, moving at the leisurely pace of two people who’d checked the weather beforehand and knew they were about to freeze their asses off. 

“Hi.” The man, short but handsome, nodded at them as he passed through the doors and into the atrium. 

They returned his greeting in unison, shuffling into the elevator once the couple had cleared the doors.

Sam reached for the panel of buttons once he saw that everyone was inside. Just as he was about to press '6' he thought the better of it and called out to the couple. 

“Excuse me!” His raised voice made Casey, Izzie, and Zahid snap their heads forward.

“Excuse me,” he repeated as the couple turned around to face him. 

“Sam, don't.” Casey spoke through her gritting teeth. She leaned past him to press the _Close Door_ button. 

The couple were beginning their short walk back to the elevator, both of them looking confused but curious. The woman was wearing a heavy winter coat and stylish, lace-up boots. Looking at her, Casey was reminded of some of the Clayton girls who wore expensive down jackets over their uniforms, girls whose families had donated too much money to the school for anyone to write them up for violating the dress code. 

“Yeah?” The man asked, tugging at both ends of the scarf he’d yet to tie around his neck.

Swiftly, Sam pressed the _Open Door_ button. 

“My friend Zahid and I are thinking about breaking our lease here because my sister says this building is haunted. Have either of you had any paranormal experiences while living here?” 

Casey let out a long, exasperated sigh. Next to her, Izzie stared down at her feet, unsure where to look but knowing anywhere in Casey’s direction would be wrong. Zahid merely stared at the couple, anticipating their response.

“Um…” The guy turned to his girlfriend, where they shared a chuckle, “No?”

When the doors began to close, Sam pressed the _Open Door_ button once more. 

Sam shook his head. “You don’t sound certain.”

Casey rolled her eyes. She wouldn’t apologize on Sam’s behalf—she’d stopped doing that after her dad had explained the difference between being embarrassed for yourself and being embarrassed for others. In the event that she couldn’t clearly differentiate, he'd warned her not to go around apologizing for other people. Especially not for her brother, whose only real offense was that he couldn’t always read situations as well as other people. 

She felt Izzie’s hand close around hers as Sam continued to question the couple. Her girlfriend’s fingers were dainty, warm from being stuffed into her pocket. She could feel the metal band of Izzie’s rings pressing against the webbing of her fingers. 

“Any other problems?” Zahid asked, concealing his flashlight behind his back. “Weird noises, moving objects, the ghost of one supremely pissed off heiress?”

The man only shook his head. He was chewing gum and kept looking at his girlfriend to verify his answers. 

The woman withdrew her hand from her jacket pocket and checked her phone. “I mean, maintenance is a little slow, but… we’ve never seen anything weird.” She looked back up at them, her eyebrows raised as if to ask Is that all? 

“Cool.” Casey moved in front of Sam and pressed the _Close Door_ button with enough finality that this time he wouldn’t try to stop her. “Thanks a lot.”

“Have a good night.” Izzie waved at the couple awkwardly, but Sam was already sidestepping her to look at them through the narrowing space. 

“One more question. Does you apartment have a drawing nook? And if so, how wide—” The doors closed before he could finish. 

Sam turned to Casey angrily. 

“What?” Casey laughed. “That was two questions, anyway.” 

Izzie squeezed her hand gently and she rolled her eyes. 

“Look. You brought your ruler or whatever, right?”

“My tape measure’s in my pocket, yes.” Sam made no attempt to reach for it and show her. 

“Okay, then. So you’ll get to measure it for yourself tonight.” She softened her voice as Izzie gave her another squeeze, “Come on, did you see those people? I bet they didn’t even decorate their own place.”

“Yeah.” Zahid piped up. He was using his flashlight to scratch a spot between his shoulder blades. “They were fancy, you could tell.”

The elevator ascended with quiet humming, dinging as it reached each new floor but ultimately unburdened by any new passengers. 

When the doors did finally open onto the sixth floor, Zahid was the last to exit the elevator. He’d loitered in the small space, first pretending he needed to tie his already-tied shoes, then quadruple checking that they were on the right floor.

“Come on, you goof.” Izzie stopped the doors from closing with her hand, and Zahid lumbered out. 

The hallway that led to the boys' apartment was wide and lined with crosswise doors to other people’s apartments. A cobalt blue runner—which must have been two hundred feet long—ran the full length of the corridor. Cream-colored insignias had been dyed into the rug, mapping the path with palm-sized fleur de lises. 

Casey moved to the side, allowing Sam access to a door marked _610_. This time as he retrieved the key from his pocket, Casey looked on without wanting to murder him, but anticipating what his new place might look like in person.

She had seen pictures, of course. Two weeks ago, over what might’ve otherwise been a normal family dinner, Sam had handed out copies of the pamphlet he and Zahid had received on their first tour. Then, and with complete serious, he’d instructed everyone to read along as he outlined the pros and cons of signing a lease for a 2-bed/2-bath, 1000 sq. ft apartment with Brixton House. 

Casey couldn’t remember if there had been any cons. Sam was so excited about the drawing nook that he’d glossed over important things like if the apartment had a washer and dryer in-unit, or if he and Zahid could make rent after utilities had been factored in. 

Sam smiled as he pushed the door open by the knob. 

The interior of Sam and Zahid’s apartment was understandably sparse. 

All that existed in the space was the furniture that came with the unit: a fridge, oven, and dishwasher in the kitchen; a dark brown leather couch and matching armchair, coffee table, and television stand in the living room; a small round table in what was supposed to be the dining area but was actually just the other half of the narrow living room; and, in each of the two bedrooms, a dark brown dresser, dark brown nightstand, and a full-sized bed sans any bedding. 

The counters were clean and the floor was spotless. The walls were builder beige in the common areas, and off-white in the bedrooms.

The space was impossibly normal, if not, a little boring.

“Very spooky.” Casey admired the space from the center of the living room, spinning around slowly. “Very, very haunted in here, guys.”

She looked around for Izzie, who was standing in the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and running her hands over the smooth, dark counters. Her mouth was slightly ajar, and her eyes were jumping excitedly from one thing to the next. Watching her warmed something in Casey, reminded her how easily pleased her girlfriend could be; she didn’t have that bratty sense of entitlement that most of the people they went to school with did. 

It was obvious to Casey that Izzie was grateful for the little things, like getting a good grade on a test she’d studied hard for, or finishing practice just before the skies opened and drenched everything. Or how, when you surprised her with something simple—like a three-pack of Burt’s Bees peppermint chapstick after you accidentally stole, then lost, the one she let you borrow in AP government—Izzie cherished it like it was a family heirloom. 

“Your fridge even has one of those water thingies.” Izzie was pointing at the built-in water dispenser now, looking at Zahid. 

He was leaning on the little breakfast bar not far from either of them, holding his glasses in one hand and massaging the bridge of his nose with the other. He nodded as he slid the glasses back onto his face. 

“Pretty dope, right?” He looked around the apartment, feeling relaxed by the glamour. He cut across the living room towards the large sliding doors. The vista beyond the glass panels was hidden behind a row of long vertical blinds.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet." He reached for the dangling wand and drew the blinds back. 

Then, the three of them were collectively stunned by the size of the moon. 

It was silver-white and mesmerizing, pulling each of them forward until they all stood, eyes wide, before the glass doors. 

“This is your view?” Casey’s voice was soft.

“Uh huh,” Zahid nodded, entranced. 

“And you’re trying to break your lease?” Izzie stared forward, her voice just as quiet as Casey’s now.

“Uh huh,” Zahid nodded again, gaze still fixed on the glowing orb. 

“I’m going to need a ladder.” Sam’s voice broke through their spell as he entered the living room. Everybody turned to him now.

“What?” Casey asked. “For what? It’s a closet.”

Casey walked over to the nook-to-be. It occupied the center space of a tall wall, and after she opened it she understood Sam’s quandary. The roof sloped at one side to accommodate the shape of stairs above it, and at its highest end, the ceiling was upwards of 10 feet high. 

Izzie followed Casey into the closet. She looked around the cramped space trying to envision Sam sitting in it and drawing pictures of penguins. 

“See?” Sam popped his head in the doorway, then disappeared when Zahid called him into one of the bedrooms. 

“That’s weird.” Casey said, looking up. 

Izzie looked up as well. “What?”

Casey ran her hand down the sloping ceiling. “Sam and Zahid don’t have stairs in their apartment.”

“So?”

“So how is this even here?” She gestured to the closet space around them. 

Izzie furrowed her brow, trying not to laugh. “Are you being serious?”

Casey shrugged. “I mean, if they don’t have stairs, then how is…” 

Izzie started to laugh. 

“What?” Casey asked with an uneasy smile. 

“You’re unbelievable.” Izzie leaned against the wall. “You actually managed to scare yourself with your own made-up story.” 

She laughed again, a little harder this time as her girlfriend stared at her waiting for an explanation. 

“It’s their neighbor’s staircase, Casey. We’ll probably hear someone walking on them if we stay in here long enough.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “I knew that.”

“So obvious that you’ve never lived in an apartment before.” Izzie snickered. 

Casey shrugged. “I still don’t get it.”

“Well I’m not an architect.” Izzie sized her, Casey was standing with her hands in her pocket and some of her tousled hair had fallen onto her face. “I just grew up in an apartment that had one of these, and we didn't have stairs either.” 

Then, as if remembering something horrid, Casey watched Izzie’s smile fade away. 

“What’s wrong?” Casey looked around. 

Izzie shook her head. “Nothing… I used to hide in it with my little brother before my the others were born.”

“Hide from what?” Casey asked instinctively. 

Izzie hesitated. 

“You don’t have to answer that, sorry.” Casey scratched her head and pretended to examine the sloping wall. 

“No, it’s okay.” Izzie smiled weakly. “You know, I’ve been thinking about a lot of things I haven’t told you, and it’s not fair.”

Casey shook her head, readying to apologize again. She didn’t want Izzie to feel like she had to talk about things that upset her, or things that had happened a long time ago, or things that were still happening that she just had to live with until she could leave for college.

Izzie stepped towards her and reached for her hand.

“You deserve to know to know why I’m weird about stuff like letting you come over, or meeting my siblings.” Izzie paused to stroke the back of Casey’s knuckles with her thumb.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Iz.” 

Casey was looking at her with those big dark eyes, smiling sympathetically. Without another word, they embraced, hugging each other tightly. There was no sexual tension or awkward anticipation as they held one another, and in that moment their friendship had moved to the forefront of their relationship again. 

They were, for a fleeting second, two people whose emotions weren’t enmeshed in their romantic feelings for each other, but rather a platonic desire to see each other happy. 

They were still clinging to each other when Zahid and Sam appeared back in the doorway. 

“Oops,” Zahid looked away when he saw them. 

They pulled apart. 

“Don’t mind us, ladies. Water’s not on yet, so we’re just gonna head to the little boys room downstairs.”

“Zahid’s going downstairs to pee. I’m going to retake some measurements, excuse me.” Sam started to squeeze between them in the closet, but Zahid grabbed him gently by the shoulders. 

“Uh, why don’t we give them some privacy, buddy? We did crash their date night.” He flashed Izzie a knowing smile, then steered a reluctant Sam towards the door. “Hey, why don’t we see if there’s a ladder downstairs?” Zahid asked as opened the door for them. 

“Fine. But I am going to remeasure my nook when I get back so you two will have to get out.” Sam called over his shoulder.

Casey gave him two thumbs up as the door closed behind them. 

They both chuckled as they stood in the closet. But then the silence of the empty apartment set in and their laughter died down, was replaced by something less playful, more potent. Tension. 

Izzie cleared her throat. “So Zahid seems to be feeling better.”

Casey nodded, staring at Izzie’s mouth. 

“I’m sorry, again, for being a jerk in the car.” She rocked on her heels. “I think lately I just feel kind of like,” she shrugged, “I don’t know, trapped.”

Izzie’s face fell.

“No—not by you, not by you.” Casey smiled nervously. “Like by Crowley and my parents. Even my dad’s been on my case these last few days.”

“They want you to succeed.” Izzie nodded. 

“Yeah, I know.”

Another silence. 

“I’m really sorry, too.” Izzie tucked a hair behind her ear. “I know we had plans tonight…”

"Yeah..." 

They were staring at each other openly now.

Neither of them moved.

“Come here.” Izzie finally whispered. 

Gulping, Casey took a step towards her and allowed Izzie’s hands to snake around her waist. 

Their mouths met slowly, opening and closing over one another’s lips easily. Casey cupped Izzie’s face, tasting her peppermint chapstick and trying not to smile. 

As the kiss deepened, Izzie slipped her hands under Casey’s sweater and rested both palms on her bare waist, pulling her girlfriend’s body closer, until their hips were touching. 

Casey walked them back slowly, pressing Izzie flat against the wall. She started taking Izzie’s jacket off, smiling into the kiss as it fell to the floor. Izzie smiled back, letting her hands graze up and down the sides of Casey’s bare torso. 

They pulled apart for air. 

“Is this kind of…” Their noses touched as Casey spoke.

Izzie nodded knowingly. “A little, yeah.”

They laughed together, surprised but happy to have found themselves where they were. Neither of them could remember the last time they’d been alone together somewhere that wasn’t a car.

Their laughter died down, muffled by the exhilarating truth of their circumstances.

_ Holy shit. _

_ They were alone. _

Casey reached for the closet door and closed it. 

She turned to Izzie, who was looking at her just as she had last week when they were making out in the defunct parking lot behind AJ’s Groceries. It was a look of unbridled longing, and as Casey reached for the light switch next to the door, she knew she was wearing it too. 

Pitch black.

Kiss reconvened. 

Izzie kept one hand under Casey's shirt, and the other buried in her hair. She gave soft tugs every now and then, prompting Casey to sigh into her mouth and kiss her harder. 

Casey reached behind Izzie to grab her ass with both hands. She’d been unsure about the move, but was utterly titillated when she realized how much her girlfriend seemed to like it. She could feel Izzie’s soft hand migrating up to her chest, nearing her breasts.

There was hesitation, but when Casey gripped Izzie harder, whispered _keep going_ into her mouth, Izzie had lost all need for timidity. 

Emboldened, she brushed her thumb over one of Casey’s erect nipples. And when Casey moaned into her mouth, she went blind with lust. 

Izzie leaned into her, pushing Casey back until she could rotate them around and push her up against the wall. A rhythmic ache had taken up residency between her thighs, and she wanted to know if Casey had one too.

Sensing the shift in Izzie, Casey relaxed against the wall. The aggression that was radiating from her girlfriend was making her weak, and she was ready to take whatever Izzie would give her. Whatever they could get away with before they had to stop.

Izzie ran her tongue over Casey’s, giving them both goosebumps. As they continued to kiss, she started to part Casey's legs with one of her thighs. Casey obliged her and widened her stance, inhaling sharply when Izzie deliberately pressed into her center. 

Casey gripped Izzie by her waist, fingers clamped around her sides, as she applied more pressure.

They were both consumed by a desperate need, panting and whimpering, so absorbed that the first loud thud they heard startled them to their cores. 

Arousal gave way to adrenaline as they heard a second thud, this time louder, coming directly from the wall they were up against.

They backed away, hearts racing. 

Another _thud_, another _thud_, another _thud_. 

It was the sound, they realized, of the above neighbor ascending the stairs. 

“Holy shit,” Casey laughed, clutching her heart. 

She let out a sigh of relief and turned on the light, noticing Izzie had stepped in front of her protectively. Her girlfriend’s chest was heaving, and her eyes were fixed wildly on the wall like she was expecting something to tear through it. 

Izzie tried to catch her breath, calm her frazzled nerves, but her honed fight or flight instinct was still screaming at her, still telling her that she was in danger. That Casey was in danger. That she had to protect them.

“Iz,” Casey touched her arm, “It’s okay. It’s just the neighbors.”

Casey opened the closet door to let some air into the room, but no sooner had the light from the kitchen poured into the closet had Izzie sprinted out of it, lurching for the sink. Her fingers gripped either side of the deep basin and her shoulders rose as she vomited. 

For a split second, Casey was too in shock to mobilize. It was as if everything were happening in slow motion on a movie screen. She was merely sitting in the audience, looking on terrified, confused, feeling suddenly very helpless and wishing her mother was there. 

Finally, reality sunk in. 

“Woah!” Casey came up behind Izzie and held her hair back as she continued to vomit. 

She wanted to soothe Izzie beyond keeping her hair puke-free, but Casey had taken one look at the mottled red sauce gushing out of her girlfriend's mouth and had to look away.

There was no use in both of them throwing up, she reasoned. 

After a few more minutes of heaving and splattering, Izzie had finally finished emptying the contents of her stomach. She reached for the faucet and wilted when cranking it did absolutely nothing. 

"Right," she groaned over the pungent sink, "No water." 

She was pallid when she turned around to face Casey. “I am so…” She steadied herself against the sink. “So, so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Casey stood there awkwardly. In truth, she had a feeling whatever it was, it most certainly was not okay. 

Casey searched through the kitchen drawers for something to clean up with, but they were empty. Then she rifled through the cabinets, praying she found something useful: a bucket, a towel, a grout scrubber, anything! 

There was nothing, though. Everything was just as empty and spotless as the sink had once been.

She took her sweater off and handed it to Izzie. She'd be cold with just her undershirt on, but it didn't matter. 

“You got a little…” She pointed to the corner of Izzie's mouth. 

Izzie turned away as she dabbed at her mouth with the sweater. “I think I might actually die of embarrassment.”

“It's probably my fault.” Casey forced herself to smile. “I shouldn’t have let you eat all that pasta, I saw the kind of stuff Zahid was putting in it.”

Izzie’s shook her head solemnly, she wouldn’t turn around to look at her. “It’s wasn’t the pasta, Casey.”

Casey had known that, of course. “No, I know… sorry.”

Just then, the doorknob began to jostle. 

The dread that filled Izzie's eyes as she looked back and forth from the opening door to Casey was enough to break Casey's heart. 

"Don't worry." Casey said quickly. "I'll handle it."

The boys stepped through the door, chatting. Sam was lugging a short step-ladder under his arm and Zahid was eating a bag of chips.

They stopped in their tracks almost immediately.

Izzie’s face turned beet red as Casey moved around her, trying to obscure the sink with her body. Together, they watched as Sam and Zahid sniffed around the air before noticing them standing in the kitchen.

Everyone stared at each other, frozen. 

“It smells like spaghetti in here.” Sam said, then, completely uninterested in following up on that observation, unfolded his step-ladder and carried it into his drawing nook. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy...


	5. The Welcome Wagon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey and Izzie try to address the anxieties surrounding their first time. Elsa and Doug return home after a splendid weekend away.

"So you _ do _want it to be romantic then?” Casey asked, playing with Izzie’s hair. 

Izzie turned away, unsure how to answer. “I mean…” 

Casey laughed through her words, “Look, I can do romantic!”

They’d been home for a little over an hour now, and the house was dark and quiet. 

The drive back to the Gardner residence, too, had been dark and quiet, everyone on their best behavior so not to disturb Izzie, who was pretending to be asleep in the passenger after Casey had made up a story about her coming down with a sudden stomach bug. 

As grossed out as Zahid had been by the pool of vomit in his brand new sink, he’d volunteered to clean it, certain that he’d given Izzie food poisoning. Izzie, however, had been too embarrassed to let him set another foot near the sink. 

Instead, she’d corralled everyone, red-faced and protesting back to the elevators, insisting that she clean it herself while they waited downstairs in the lobby. And she had. With the aid of countless paper towels and plastic cups of water drawn from the first-floor bathroom. The task had taken her nearly half an hour, and she’d left Brixton House smelling rank enough to prove it. 

Now, she was glad to be back home, curled up in bed with Casey, who’d patiently waited for her to emerge from the bathroom after an especially long shower and three—yes, three—vigorous rounds of teeth brushing. 

Casey sat up next to her in the bed. She was resting on her elbows, face turned towards her but impossible to discern in the dark room. All Izzie could see was the silhouette of her girlfriend’s long body and shaggy hair, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Casey was looking at her with that signature grin of hers: wide, goofy, prefacing whatever teasing remark would soon follow. 

“Oh my god.” Casey’s shadowy physique leaned closer towards her. “You totally want it to be romantic, don’t you? I knew it.” 

“No!” Izzie whined defensively. “I just, I just…”

“What?” 

Izzie started to convulse with laughter. “I don’t know, just, not in your brother’s writing nook maybe?”

Casey shook with laughter. The heat of the moment had long run cool, and they both knew they’d gotten carried away back at Brixton House. 

"Sam would've killed us," Casey mused quietly. 

Izzie nuzzled into her, laying her head on Casey’s chest. “Mhm,” she nodded weakly. 

“Falling asleep on me?” She tightened the arm she had around Izzie’s shoulder. 

“No way.” Izzie responded, her eyelids heavy.

Casey tucked her chin into her girlfriend’s hair and smiled contentedly. “It’s okay if you can’t hang.”

Izzie could smell the detergent on Casey’s thin, oversized shirt. She imagined Elsa doing a round of laundry, taking care not to tarnish any of Casey’s favorite clothes, and smiled. It calmed her to know that when she came to this house, she would always be treated with the same warmth and affection that Elsa showed her own children. 

It made Izzie want to live here, or, somewhere like it at least. 

Casey stared up at the ceiling, unable to make out its textured finish.“You know, I was really scared tonight.” She took a deep breath, “For you, I mean.”

Izzie’s voice was soft. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I told you, you don’t—”

“I know, I know, I don’t have to apologize or explain anything to you. But I don’t want you to think I’m all fucked up or whatever.” Izzie leaned back to look at her. 

“I don’t think that.” Casey’s voice was serious.

_ Yeah, well, maybe you should, _Izzie thought to herself, frowning as she nuzzled back into Casey's side. 

**~**

After 30 minutes of silence, Casey was certain Izzie had fallen asleep. 

She closed her eyes once more, trying not to replay her girlfriend charging for the sink, heaving helplessly as she looked on. She’d felt powerless then, like a little girl waiting for some adult to step in and take the reigns. For all the time she’d spent lamenting and frothing over her constant supervision, she’d never once _ wished _that someone had been around to tell her exactly what to do. Exactly what to say. Exactly how to act in that moment. 

“I can feel you brooding, Newton.” Izzie perched herself up on her elbow. She’d been lying there very much awake, trying unsuccessfully to nod off against Casey's tense body and thoughtful sighs. 

“I’m just thinking about how much it would cost to cover this room in roses.” Casey lied, crouched as she often was: behind a joke.

Izzie chuckled, “Shut up.” 

They stared at each other through the blackness, swathed in silence. 

“Seriously, if you want to talk about it…” Izzie sighed, halfway hoping she did and halfway hoping she didn’t.

“No.” Casey dithered. “It just...wasn’t like this with Evan.”

Casey took a deep breath as the words left her mouth. It was a half-truth; it certainly wasn’t what was keeping her up tonight, but it had kept her up plenty of other nights. 

Izzie yawned. “What wasn’t?”

Casey shifted to look at her, waiting. 

“Oh.” Izzie laughed bashfully. She was almost as surprised by the subject change as she was hearing Evan’s name. 

It had remained an unspoken, albeit enforced, rule that they didn’t talk about Evan—didn’t conjure his name for good or bad, because it made things weird. Izzie knew Casey still felt guilty about dumping him, and Casey knew Izzie would never be able to offer her unbiased advice when she did feel like talking about him. 

The result was simple: they didn’t talk about Evan. Ever. 

Izzie rolled off of Casey to lie on her back and stare up at the ceiling. “What's different?” 

“Aside from the obvious?" Casey grinned cheekily.

Izzie yawned again. She was too tired for this. "Be serious."

"Sorry," Casey mumbled, "I just didn’t… like I didn't think about it this much with him. What it would be like, how it would go.”

Izzie nodded her head slowly. “Maybe because he’s a guy?” 

Casey waited for her to elaborate. 

“I mean, everyone talks about it so much. It’s like, what even is there to wonder about?”

Casey could feel herself blushing. “I don’t think it’s that, Iz.”

Izzie went quiet. She didn’t know what her girlfriend was getting at, or where this conversation was headed anymore. It formed a lump in her throat not knowing if she should be flattered or concerned by the comparison to Evan. 

Timidly deciding on flattered, she pressed on. “I think about it a lot, too.” 

“You do?” 

The surprise in Casey’s voice made Izzie grin.

“Obviously.” She giggled quietly. “I mean, I kind of thought tonight was gonna be the night, you know?” 

“Yeah.” Casey reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers. “Me, too.”

“Guess we’ll both just have to keep obsessing over it…” Izzie brushed her thumb over the back of one of Casey’s knuckles. 

Silence. 

Casey took a deep breath. She didn’t know if she wanted the answer to her next question, the one she'd been ruminating on for the last two months now, if it was only going to hurt her feelings or make her feel more insecure than she already did. But before she could lose her nerve, she closed her eyes and leapt. 

“What was it like with Nate? You know, the first time.” 

Izzie hesitated. 

“It was…” She inhaled slowly, audibly, seized by the memory of leading Nate into the upstairs bedroom of a loud party. “Awful,” she breathed out.

Casey’s head snapped towards her. “Really?” 

She didn’t want to admit it, but hearing that her first time with Nate had been a shit show sent a wave of relief washing over her. 

Izzie snickered. “Yeah, like, really, really, really bad the first couple of times.” She rolled onto her side now, so that their faces were only a few inches apart. “I mean it got better, but… he was pretty much in it for himself, you know?”

Casey nodded even though she really didn’t know. 

Sex with Evan had never been mind-blowing, but at least he’d always _ tried _ to make her feel good. Always asked if she was comfortable, or if he was hurting her, or if she wanted to stop. And the way he’d looked at her whenever he was checking in, like he was searching her eyes for proof that what was coming out of her mouth—_I’m okay, It doesn’t hurt—_matched whatever she was actually feeling, that made her miss him in that moment. 

Mostly, it made her grateful that as imperfect as her first time was, at least it wasn’t because the person himself had been wholly imperfect. 

There was something about knowing Nate hadn’t shown Izzie that same level of respect that made Casey clench her jaw tight. She started to bat away the follow-up questions that pooled in her mind: _ Where did it happen? How many times did it happen? Do you even know, or did you do it so much you lost count? Did he ever get you off? Did you fake it? Did you like it? Did you ever crave him how I know you crave me—how I know I crave you? _

“What about with Evan?” Izzie’s question was quiet, almost a whisper. “Like, I know you were mad at your mom and everything, but…” She, too, had been wondering how she might stack up against her predecessor.

“Oh, it was...” Casey shook her head, “I mean, it was like...you know, fine.” She laughed nervously. 

Izzie stared at her blankly. 

“Sorry, I thought I wanted to talk about this, but, uh, I don’t think I do.”

“Okay.” Izzie nodded. 

Casey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Cool.”

Izzie repositioned herself on Casey’s chest. “It’s always gonna be awkward talking about him, isn’t it?”

Casey draped her arm over Izzie’s shoulders once more. “I don’t know. Probably.”

**~**

The next morning, Casey and Izzie had breakfast on the couch in the living room. They laughed open-mouthed, globs of oatmeal peeking through, as Sam showed them his blueprints. He’d drafted spatial approximations of his nook, still overjoyed that there would be room for his desk. 

“Edison’s tank will go over here.” His indicated to a spot on the drawing. “And there’s an outlet, so his heating lamp shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Sam,” Casey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and paused to swallow. “You can’t keep Edison in there.”

Izzie giggled beside her.

“Why not?” He rolled his drawing up, perplexed. 

Casey’s eyes bulged incredulously. “Because it’s a closet.”

“It’s a drawing nook,” Izzie corrected her, sucking the tip of her finger. 

“Fine, it's a drawing nook. But it’s too small, he's gonna be cramped in there.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Izzie reached for the bowl of strawberries between them, smiling. “Edison’s not claustrophobic, is he?”

“No, well, I don’t know.” Sam’s tone was defiant. He paused. “He’s not as active as other species, so I don’t think so.”

Casey snatched the strawberry out of Izzie’s hand and popped it into her mouth, grinning. 

“Hey!” Izzie hit her playfully. “Is there a reason you can’t just keep him in your room, Sam?”

He fidgeted with one of the drawstrings on his hoodie. “He likes to watch me work.”

“Then I say you should—” Izzie stopped as she heard the front door unlocking. 

Doug and Elsa stepped into the house. They were both wearing leather jackets and smiling, each of them looking far more relaxed than Izzie had ever seen either of them. She watched as Casey’s dad leaned into her mom and whispered something that made Elsa chuckle then thwack his arm. 

Elsa’s eyes lit up when she saw the group of them clustered in the living room, and Doug nodded, pleased that nothing had been burned down or shattered. 

“Hey, guys!” She strutted into the living room, grinning at each of them, then wrapped Sam in a bear hug. “Oh, I missed you!”

“Do you think Edison would have difficulty thriving in a 6 by 8 foot room?” Sam asked, still caught in Elsa’s grip. 

“A 6 by 8 foot _ closet _,” Casey specified, standing up from the couch to hug their mom as well. 

“It is not a closet!” Sam was already unrolling his blueprint again.

“Izzie!” Elsa cheered, bypassing Casey to hug her as she, too, got up from the couch. “I’m loving your hair today,” she pulled back to touch Izzie's soft, dark tresses.

Casey turned to her dad in disbelief, but Doug simply shrugged and chuckled. He set their two duffel bags down in the foyer and hung his keys on the rack before joining everyone in the living room. 

Izzie was holding the bowl of strawberries in one hand and giving her hair a dramatic flip with the other now. “Oh my god, that conditioner you recommended is amazing.”

“Right?” Elsa leaned into her as if relaying a secret. “And it’s only four bucks—score!”

“Hi, remember me?” Casey waved her hand between them. “Your daughter?” 

Elsa turned to her with open arms and a toothy smile. “How could I forget?” She threw her arms around Casey and gave a tight squeeze, holding her for just a little longer when she tried to pull away. 

“How was the concert?” Izzie asked, gesturing to the couch for Elsa to sit. 

“Ugh,” she groaned as she slumped onto the plush seat, “It was a-maz-ing. Even better than the first time we saw them twenty years ago.”

“Yeah,” Doug was taking off his jacket, “Your mom made us get there six hours before the show even started.” 

“But we got the best spots, didn’t we?” Elsa sang playfully, pointing at him. 

“Yeah, yeah, we did.” He held his hands up in defeat. “The view was really somethin’.” 

He looked younger to Casey then, spry as he was when she was a little girl and he used to hoist her up on his shoulders to place that garish gold star on the tip of their Christmas tree. 

“We were so close,” Elsa put her hand over her heart and sighed, “We could practically see Christine McVie’s roots.” 

Izzie giggled. “Well, I don’t know who that is, but I’m really glad you had a good time.”

“What?” Elsa stared at Izzie for a moment, then turned to Casey and Sam expectantly. When both of her children shrugged, she turned to Doug, who was already shaking his head. 

“Where did we go wrong with them?” Elsa teased. 

Doug furrowed his brow. “Don’t you guys have iPods or something?”

Casey groaned. “Here we go.”

“Why don’t you try putting some real music on those things instead of that crap that’s on the radio?” Doug’s arms were folded over his chest. “Everything sounds the same, I don’t even know how you guys tell it apart.”

“Okay, boomer.” Casey muttered, hulling another strawberry and biting into its fleshy shape. 

He started to engage her then stopped himself. “You know what, Case? I’m too hungry to care what that means right now, because your mom made us skip breakfast to get back here.”

Doug headed for the kitchen muttering something about _ kids today, _and Elsa nodded. She was pleased with her decision to skip out on the hotel's continental breakfast even as her stomach growled. “I just missed you guys so much.”

“You were only gone for two days,” Casey quipped. 

“And that was two days too many.” Elsa leaned into her, nudging her daughter’s side. 

“So...” Elsa motioned to them, “Did you guys do anything fun this weekend? Go anywhere?” 

Izzie tossed a strawberry into her mouth so she didn’t have to answer. 

“We went to Brixton House because Casey convinced Zahid our new apartment was haunted, even though she had no evidence.” Sam scoffed. “Then Izzie threw up in our sink and we had to leave.” He gestured to her on the couch. 

“Oh, honey, are you alright?” Elsa reached out to feel Izzie’s forehead with the back of her hand. 

“Yeah,” Izzie blushed, “I feel a lot better now.” 

“But it all worked out, because there's enough room in my nook for a desk." He pointed to his elaborate drawing. “See?”

Elsa turned to Casey disapprovingly, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation—or, more likely, an excuse.

Casey sighed, annoyed by the charades. “You literally track our phones. You know where we went.”

“Well call me old-fashioned, but I still like to give my kids the opportunity to tell me the truth.” Her mother smiled sweetly, then turned to her brother. “So thank you, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Casey replied sarcastically, “Thanks a lot, Sam.”

“Sure.” He brought his drawing closer to them on the couch, "Do you think Edison will be okay over here, mom? Casey seems to think he’ll be uncomfortable.”

“Well…” Elsa smiled sympathetically. “I think he’s pretty happy in your room right now.”

“Told you.” Casey snickered, leaning back on the couch, kicking her legs up on the coffee table. 

Elsa shot her a look then leaned forward, studying Sam's drawing a bit more. “Maybe you should start him out in your new room so he doesn’t get overwhelmed by all the changes.”

Sam weighed the suggestion quietly, then turned on his heel to leave. “Thank you, but I’d like a second opinion.” He started for the kitchen, "Dad!"

"What?" Everyone heard Doug call back before he and Sam's conversation faded out of earshot. 

Now that Elsa was alone with the girls, she reclined for a better view of them. “Other than a little stomach bug, how were things?”

Casey and Izzie hesitated, swapping glancing.

“Good.” They replied in unison, eyeing each other from either side of Elsa. 

Elsa nodded slowly. She appraised each of them, her gaze landing first on Casey, whose sheepish grin let on nothing, then on Izzie, whose raised eyebrows suggested that something had happened—but maybe not the thing Elsa had been worried about.

She’d known the temptation would be there; hell, even she’d been a teenager once. She’d known they would be excited to have the house (mostly) to themselves, and she’d also known exactly where their minds would go once the reality of that privacy started to sink in. What she didn’t know—was having a hard time discerning between their darting eyes and fidgeting hands—was if they’d gone ahead and done it. 

“I’m not gonna get anymore out of either of you, am I?” She joked, knowing she’d just try to pry more information out of Izzie when she got her alone. 

“Nope.” Casey shook her head and passed the fruit bowl over Elsa’s body into Izzie’s hands. 

“Fine,” Elsa pouted, “Then I’m not telling either of you about how I almost snuck backstage.”

“Yeah, right.” Casey scoffed. “You did not.” 

She crossed her arms. “I did, too. And I have the scrapes to prove it.”

Izzie tilted her head to the side and poked her lip out. “Come on, tell us!” 

“Nope,” Elsa stood up smiling, pausing to take a good long look at them. 

They were so impossibly young, and they didn’t even know it. 

No amount of meddling could make them stay like that forever, but Elsa wouldn't have been the mother she was if she didn't even try. So, she’d gone to certain lengths to make sure Casey didn't jump into sex with Izzie how she had with Evan. She made sure that the two of them hung out with the door open, and she got up in the middle of the night to make sure Izzie had stayed on the couch whenever she slept over. 

She eavesdropped. 

She spied. 

She set up a special GPS alert on her phone for when Casey stopped by Izzie’s house, and held her breath until the little blue dot turned off of Izzie’s street minutes later. 

It wasn’t that Elsa didn’t trust Casey to make good decisions, because she did. What she_ was_ actually worried about—had taken the time to think through in a way that her daughter simply hadn’t—was what taking that next step might do to Casey's current relationship when she was still clearly trying to process the end of her last relationship.

Elsa knew a thing or two about those pesky emotional tethers. They were invisible and powerful and whimsical, too. They flexed their hold over you the second they sensed you making progress or moving on, like the first time she and Doug had slept together after her affair. Elsa could remember how passionate and wonderful it was, but also how easily Nick had crept back into her mind afterwards.

All she'd wanted to do was celebrate Doug's return to their bed, but she couldn't because things were still so messy. The memory of Nick was fresh in her mind, and without meaning to, Elsa had ended up comparing the two men that night: their bodies, their smells, their radically different lovemaking. And for that comparison—which she’d made lying nude next to a man who loved her enough to give her a second chance—she’d been filled with such sickening shame. 

She didn’t want that for Casey.

She wanted the experience with Izzie to feel safe, certain, guiltless, and lovely. Most of all, though, she wanted it to be unencumbered by Evan, and if she were to base it off of her maternal instinct alone, Elsa wasn't convinced that that was possible right now. 

Izzie held the bowl of fruit out, interrupting her thoughts. “Want one?”

“Yes, please.” Elsa plucked a strawberry from the bowl and popped it into her mouth. She stood there for a moment, allowing the sour sweetness to pool on her tongue. 

_They hadn’t had sex yet. _

She could feel it now. Sense it in the way they were sitting and talking.

If they had had sex, neither of them would have been able to look her in the eye, let alone gab about hair products and offer her a reason to linger when she was clearly about to leave.

Suddenly, Elsa was resisting the urge to laugh:_T__hose poor, hormonal t__hings. P__robably going out of their minds by now. _

“Well,” she glimpsed back and forth at them, masking her amusement. “I've got bags to unpack and pictures to post on Facebook.”

Casey retracted her legs from the table to let her pass through. "Wow, what a wild Sunday."

As Elsa carried her luggage upstairs, a private smile playing on her lips, she hummed the tune of a love song that reminded her of her first time with Doug. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll catch you fine folks in 2020, where Zahid and I will both be bouncing back from the bullshit with unprecedented pizzazz. 
> 
> As always, thanks for the kudos and the comments. They make my day.


	6. Of All Days, Tuesday pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their weekend together, it's back to school for Casey and Izzie. Tuesdays can be stressful.

**7:41AM**

A rush of bustling students took to the halls of Clayton Prep, shuffling up and down its pristine corridors, en route to their first class of the day. Casey walked among her peers, overhearing them laugh about their weekend or lament imminent exams. She knew that, like them, her pressed shirt and ironed skirt belied the fatigue she was still fighting off this fine Tuesday morning. 

Beyond one windowed length of the hallway, she could see the light, intermittent snowfall outside. She paused to admire the flurry while she could, knowing the thin layer of snow on the ground would long be melted by the time practice rolled around later today. 

She took a deep breath, then exhaled contentedly. She was tired, but in a good mood. 

Giving another look around, she smiled. 

The ubiquitous nature of plaid at the prep school had once bothered her, especially when she first got here. It was so prim and proper—stifling all individuality, really—that she’d hated it immediately. But now she found herself taking an odd comfort in the cloned student body, the crisp white button downs, tartan ties, and blue-black blazers. 

Wisps of pure white snow continued to fall from the sky to the ground.

Casey peered down at the selfsame uniform that hugged her body. _ She was one of them now, wasn’t she? _

“Ow, wha—?” Casey winced, turning around and bumping into the person that had just stepped on her heel.

“Sorry, sorry.” A hazel-eyed girl with a cropped afro was looking up at her. “Sorry, I’m just—sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” Casey shook her head, recognizing the girl immediately as one of the recent transfers. “It’s cool, really.”

“Okay, sorry.” The girl smiled, then tilted her head suspiciously. “Hey, am I going the right way to get to Cleaver Auditorium?”

Casey pursed her lips. 

The girl nodded slowly. “It’s on the other side of the school, isn’t it?” 

When Casey nodded, the girl gave a quick, exasperated chuckle.

“Nice.” 

“Just go that way,” Casey pointed behind them, “Until you’re across from these big double-doors that lead to a courtyard. You’re not supposed to cut across the grass, but everybody does. It’ll get you there a lot faster.” 

The girl’s face turned to stone and she sighed. 

“What?”

“Nothing—it’s just, I asked some other girl and she said the exact same thing about going _ this _way.” 

There was no tradition at Clayton Prep that dictated new kids be led astray, but after ten students had randomly transferred to the school last Monday, and then everyone found out they’d all come from Emmett Academy—Clayton’s fiercest rival for the last 16 years—there’d been a general understanding that _ these _ particular newbies _ should _be hazed. 

Whenever possible. 

No matter how petty. 

“Oh. Sorry.” Casey mumbled awkwardly. 

“It’s fine.” The girl huffed. “Thanks for your help…” She paused. “Unless you’re also giving me the wrong directions, in which case…” She raised her eyebrows. 

Casey shook her head, then pointed again. “I’m really not. Cleaver’s that way.” She smiled, hoping to disarm the girl.

“Okay. Then, thanks.” She turned to leave, but stopped herself. “Actually, what’s your name?”

“Um,” Casey suddenly felt like she was being set up, “Casey...”

“Cool. Now I’ll know exactly who to hunt down if you’re lying.” The girl smiled. “Joking. I’m Janessa.”

“Nice to meet you.” Casey nodded, then watched her walk off to make sure she didn’t make any wrong turns. 

When she faced the hallway window again, she found the flurry was now falling sideways; fluffy bits of snow kissed the glass before her, melting on impact. 

Casey thought back to being a little girl, lying on her back in the front yard, catching snow on her tongue. Her dad’s only two rules back then had been simple: _ Don’t let anyone pick on Sam _ and _ Don’t eat snow that isn’t white. _The memory of him trying to explain why some snow was yellow made her smile just as the warning bell sounded.

The three loud chimes signaled that students officially had one minute to get to classes or risk being written up by an administrator. 

Casey cursed under her breath, then sped down the hallway, taking long strides that kicked the pleats of her skirt up with each step forward. Eventually, she spotted Izzie’s bright backpack. 

Her eyes fell to the back of Izzie’s thighs, the toned muscles that flexed each time her girlfriend shifted her weight from foot to foot. As she approached her from behind, Casey had to resist pinching her sides and eliciting that high-pitched yelp that was usually followed by a punch to the arm. 

“Hey.” She smiled at Izzie, taking in the sight of her more fully. “Sorry, got caught up giving this new girl directions.” 

Izzie closed her locker, spinning the dial to reset it. “Some new girl, huh?”

Casey smirked. “Jealous?” 

Izzie smirked back. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Newton?”

There was a brief pause as they both snuck a look around, checking that the coast was clear of hawk-eyed teachers. 

They’d been warned twice now to tone down the PDA: once by Crowley after she’d caught them kissing before practice last month, and once more, as recently as last Thursday, by a sour-faced administrator who’d practically followed them on their way out of the cafeteria. 

They were alone now, though. And though someone could have come around the corner at any moment and detected them, it was perhaps too early in the day for either of them to care. 

They smiled as they leaned in to one another. 

Pleased with their good luck, and realizing they’d missed each other quite a lot despite texting all last night and this morning, they kissed again. They weren’t the kind of kisses that either of them had been lying in bed thinking about lately, but they’d have to suffice. Just a little something to help them get through this next hour without each other. 

Together, they started down the short hallway that housed both of their first classes. 

“You okay?” Izzie tugged on the straps of her backpack as they walked. “You seem kinda tired.”

Casey laughed a little, impressed by her girlfriend’s intuition. She was starting to think that Elsa’s insight was rubbing off on Izzie, and soon enough there would be nothing she could conceal from her mother _ or _her girlfriend: every little stomach ache would have some underlying meaning, and both of them would want to know all about it. 

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.” She shrugged. “Kept having weird dreams.”

“About what?”

Casey started to laugh. “I don’t even remember.”

After a few seconds, Izzie nodded thoughtfully. “You should’ve called me.”

“For what?” The suggestion confused her. “Do you interpret dreams?”

“No, but sometimes I can’t sleep either.” She shrugged. “Maybe we could just... talk or whatever?” 

They’d stopped just outside of Izzie’s English class now. A quick glance into the room revealed that the desks had been rearranged into a single, wide circle. 

Casey stared at her. “But doesn’t your little sister sleep with you sometimes? Wouldn’t you wake her up?”

Izzie smiled. 

She liked that Casey remembered little things about her life she’d peppered into their conversations. “She’s with my aunt this week. So are my brothers. Everyone's in Newark for my uncle’s retirement party until Wednesday.”

"Oh, right.” Casey nodded, though this was the first time Izzie had mentioned anything about an uncle in Newark or a retirement party. “How come you didn't go?"

“Yeah, I’ll just ask coach for half a week off to hang out with some guy I see like twice a year.” Izzie rolled her eyes. “Besides, there’s still no word from my mom, and I don’t want the house to be empty if she does show up. That could be… bad.” 

Casey dithered, unsure how to answer. “Oh, okay.”

Izzie readjusted her backpack on her shoulder. “Seriously, though, you should call me if you can’t get to sleep. If Carly’s with me, I just won’t answer.” She smiled, knowing Casey _ really _needed to get to her own class but wanting to look at her face just a little bit longer. 

“Maybe we can talk about cognates,” she gestured to the Spanish textbook under Casey’s arm, “We’ll both be asleep in no time.”

**8:47AM**

After spending the last hour reading through _ The Crucible _ , Izzie was almost _ excited _ for her next class. 

Mrs. Harrington had selected her to read all of the Abigail Williams lines, so she hadn’t even had a chance to zone out, unlike some of her classmates with lesser roles. And though it had been funny, listening to Quinn gripe about being sacked with the role of Martha Corey—who’s pretty much just some guy’s eighth wife with like two lines—she was looking forward to putting her head down and analyzing whatever random phenomena Ms. Davenport would throw at her today. 

Casey bounded up to her just as she was opening her locker. 

“You’re in a good mood.” Izzie laughed. “Did you finally learn how to roll your Rs?”

“I’m gonna ignore that.” Casey grinned, then glanced around before leaning in to give her a kiss. 

It was a quick and unlingering brush of their mouths, down to business as usual. But as they broke apart, Casey leaned in for another kiss, taking a little more time to relish the softness of Izzie’s lips. 

“Not that I’m complaining—” Izzie chuckled, pinning a stray hair behind her ear. “But shouldn’t you be cramming?”

Still beaming, Casey slumped against the blue lockers next to Izzie’s open one. “For what?”

Izzie shook her head knowingly. “You are the only person in this entire school that doesn’t text in class.” She nestled her graphing notebook into her backpack. “Aisling’s giving a pop quiz today.” 

“What?” Casey practically screamed as she stood up straight, her carefree slouch abandoned. “How do you know? You haven’t even been to macro yet.”

“Because Penelope just failed it and she’s blowin’ up the group text.” She snuck an amused glance at Casey, who was now frantically reaching into her skirt pocket.

She hadn’t received a single notification for any of the 16 texts Penelope had sent in her enraged stupor, nor was she getting notifications for the stream of those still pouring in. Casey hadn’t always kept her phone on Do Not Disturb at school, but she’d been forced to turn on the hibernative mode—ironically enough—because of Penelope’s relentless back-to-back texting. 

Dreading what she would uncover, Casey scrolled through her inbox quickly, trying to read the series of texts before a new one came in and refreshed the screen. 

_ Pen: who gives _

_ Pen: a pop quiz _

_ Pen: at 8AM _

_ Pen: ??? _

_ Pen: like??? _

_ Iz: Aisling? _

_ Pen: WHO ELSE _

_ Pen: fuckkkkk _

_ Pen: lol that bitch _

_ Pen: really _

_ Pen: gave me a pop quiz _

_ Pen: on my bday _

_ Bianca: LOL. _

_ Bianca: It’s not a holiday, Penny. You’re not Beyonce. _

_ Pen: FUCK YOU _

_ Quinn: she drops 2 lowest tho _

_ Iz: yeah ur good _

_ Bianca: Relax. _

_ Pen: gonna kms _

“Shit,” Casey breathed out. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Case, it’s just a pop quiz.” Izzie touched her shoulder gently, trying to remember Casey’s schedule but blanking. “Do you take macro before or after lunch?” 

“After.” Casey grimaced, mind racing. “Last period.”

“Well that’s good, right?” Izzie closed her locker, eyes glued to her. “You can study all day.”

Casey’s mouth pulled into a pitiful, pensive line. 

Izzie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. 

She wanted to offer Casey her notes, but knew that she wouldn’t have time to study them herself before _ she _had to take Aisling’s quiz come third period. Izzie groaned internally; she was already going to have her work cut out for her trying to sneakily study for a macro quiz in the middle of her stat class. 

Izzie steered them away from the lockers, past a vast trophy case and down a bright hallway that would eventually fork off to their respective classes.

“Lemme think. Maybe I can help.” 

“How?” Casey was already envisioning her quiz covered in glossy pen strokes, saturated by the ink of Aisling’s infamous grading pen. There would be red. So. Much. Red. 

“I don’t know, um, I can give you my notes before third? You said Rachel can barely read yours, right? ” 

Casey glowered at her. 

Rachel, Casey’s all-subject, Crowley-appointed tutor, was the last person she wanted to turn to for help. She was rude, impatient, and a stickler for rules that she seemed to make up on the spot during their sessions. 

If it weren’t bad enough that Casey already had to see Rachel every day for a 45-minute appointment that always felt more like two hours, she couldn’t even get out of them. Rachel had dashed any notion of her skipping or goofing off after the one and only time Casey had shown up late to the library. 

“You know, your coach told me to report absenteeism _ and _tardiness.” Rachel had sneered, before bothering to look up from the book she was reading. “So I suggest you get here on time, Kelsey.” 

Baffled, Casey had taken a seat at the table Rachel had picked for them, the table they would go on to sit at every day, five days a week, for the rest of the semester. “It’s Casey...” 

The warning bell rang. 

“No. It doesn’t matter.” Casey was too frustrated to have this conversation. “Rachel doesn’t care. She has a problem with everything I do.” 

Izzie sighed. “Okay, nevermind.” 

Casey frowned at her. “Sorry, I know you’re just trying to help.” 

Izzie nodded. Over her girlfriend’s shoulder, she could see the door to Ms. Davenport’s room, and a little further down the hall, just on the opposite side, Mr. Miller’s room, where Casey would spend the next hour in calculus. 

“I gotta go.” Casey was already walking away. “See you after class?”

**9:50AM**

When Casey ambled out of calculus, her head wasn’t reeling from Mr. Miller’s love of derivatives like it so often did. 

Even the elderly man’s oddly poetic passion for integrals—which usually kept Casey chuckling to herself through his class hadn’t been enough to distract her from Aisling’s looming quiz.

Casey wasn’t anywhere near failing Macroeconomics, but her footing in the class was slipping with each passing week. Her grade had been dropping slowly enough—half a point here, half a point there—that she’d been able to put off dealing with it until now. She was toeing the B/C line with an even 80 in the class, but she knew today’s pop quiz was going to change that. And not in her favor. 

She frowned as she stepped out into the hallway, trying to remember the last time she’d gotten a C... 

The fifth grade, she finally remembered, after Sam had destroyed her science fair project during yet another tantrum. Elsa had pleaded with Casey’s teacher to let her redo it, but for whatever reason her teacher had refused, called it _irresponsible _to leave Casey’s simple circuit display somewhere it could be “recklessly destroyed” the night before it was due. 

Casey was grimacing now, trapped in a spiraling memory of Elsa cursing at the teacher, screaming into the green landline that used to sit on their kitchen counter. She could remember Sam crying in the living room while their dad comforted him, and being angry that no one had even bothered to comfort _ her _ when it was _ her _hard work that had been ruined in a single volatile instance. 

She could remember unfolding her report card and crying when she saw the C+, crying the entire bus ride home, crying as Doug tried to tell her that grades in elementary school didn’t really count, crying even as Sam apologized to her just before she could sock him square in the chest and made it so they were _ both _crying. 

She wasn’t freed from her recollection until she saw Izzie across the hall, waiting for her. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

A quick look around, followed by the devastating discovery of an administrator just down the hall. There would be no kiss. Not right here, not right now.

Casey sighed, eyes falling to the packet in Izzie’s hands. “Get any studying done?” 

Izzie groaned, unfolding her study guide and staring at it. 

Even through the backside of the stapled papers Casey could tell that her girlfriend’s notes were neat and expertly color-coded. 

“For like two minutes. Then Davenport started circling my desk like a shark.”

“Maybe she can smell distraction.” 

Izzie rolled her eyes. Together, they started towards the atrium, the open-roofed heart of the school, which was always bright and airy at this time of day.

“If she can smell distraction, then Quinn should reek. She spent the whole period sexting Tyler and Austin.”

Casey shook her head, ridding the image of Quinn sandwiched between two preppy soccer players from her mind. “Gross.”

“Yeah, I think she’s, like, trying to figure out who wants her more?” Izzie shook her head as well now. “So she kept asking me whose texts were sexier.” 

Casey swallowed. “You read them?”

“I mean, yeah.” She shrugged. “Quinn didn’t give me much choice.”

Izzie laughed when Casey didn’t say anything.

“Now who’s jealous?”

Casey rolled her eyes. 

“Were there pictures?”

“What? No!” Izzie pulled her to the side of the hallway where they wouldn’t obstruct traffic. “It wasn’t like that, Case. They were just… talking. You know, saying stuff.”

Casey didn’t disbelieve Izzie. She could tell by the shocked look on her girlfriend’s face that she hadn’t spent the last hour browsing dick pics, or helping Quinn pick the best nudes to send back. Though, there was something else in Izzie’s eyes now, too. Something Casey couldn’t quite place. It looked almost like amusement. 

“What were they saying?” 

“Wait, okay, wait.” Izzie smiled warily. “Is this… are we fighting?”

“No.” Casey forced herself to smile. She didn’t know why, but she felt self-conscious now. “I was just wondering.” 

Izzie laughed, then hooked their arms before stepping back into the busy stretch of the hallway. 

“People really do that during class?” Casey asked, after a moment’s silence. 

“What? Sext?” Izzie asked, not lowering her voice. 

Casey looked around nervously, hoping no one had overhead. She nodded.

Izzie grinned. “I don’t think _ anyone _does it as effectively as Quinn… but yeah, why not?” 

Although she wanted to know, Casey refused to ask Izzie if she and Nate had ever sexted in class. 

Judging by the nonchalance in Izzie’s voice, she had a hunch how that would go: Izzie would try—in her own, sweet stammering way—that _ yes _ she and Nate had done that before, and _ yes _ it had happened more than once, and _ yes _there was a possibility that Nate still had those incredibly descriptive texts from her in his phone right this moment. All Casey would really end up doing is hurting her own feelings and doubling down on her despisal of Nate. 

Izzie nudged her. “Okay—why are you making that face?”

“What face?”

They passed from the mouth of their hallway into the atrium then. Up above, they could see other students and faculty navigating the second and third floors. 

“That’s your judgy face.” Izzie teased. “The face you make when Elsa says she likes… well, anything.”

“I do not have a _ judgy _face.” She paused, accepting that she had a judgy face. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

Casey shrugged, willing her encroaching blush away. 

Just then, a honey-skinned boy with dark curly hair zipped around them, clipping the side of Izzie’s backpack. When he turned to apologize, he nearly tripped over someone else in the process. Baffled, Izzie and Casey followed his chaotic path—winding left, then abruptly right—until he disappeared down a hallway. 

Moments later, a different curly-haired boy, who looked quite similar to the first one—could have passed for his cousin or brother, maybe—came cutting through the center of the atrium looking no less frazzled.

“What is that about?” Izzie was craning her neck, watching the second boy take off down a hallway—the wrong hallway, that is, if he’d been hoping to catch up with his maybe cousin-brother. 

“I have no idea.” Casey 

They continued their leisurely walk across the waxed floors, standard penny loafers clicking with each step. When the warning bell sounded, they only slightly picked up the pace, knowing their next classes weren’t too far apart. 

Aisling’s classroom door was decorated—covered, really—with fake, laminated 20, 50, and 100 dollar bills. Casey huffed.

She herself had been duped by that playful aesthetic. As a junior, she’d passed Aisling’s door countless times, not yet having a reason to dread going near it, and never suspecting that the teacher inside—a relatively young and rather attractive Irish woman—was not a woman at all, but a very smart demon. 

A knot of anxiety settled in her stomach as she stared at the door. “Good luck in there.”

“Thanks.” Izzie swung her backpack around to her chest and reached inside. “And I know you said Rachel won’t care… but here.” She held out a neon green folder with the word “MACRO” drawn across the front of it. 

“Oh, thanks.” Casey nodded, feeling like an asshole. 

The halls had grown sparse now. 

A few students moseyed lazily into nearby rooms. Chairs, desks, and tables could be heard scraping against the floors as they were shifted around to accommodate lesson plans. Slowly, the classrooms were coming to life. 

Behind Izzie, Casey could see Dr. Aisling leaning over her desk to investigate who was still standing in her doorway. Seeing Casey, the stuffy teacher gave her a curt nod.

The knot in Casey’s stomach tightened. 

“I gotta go.” She gave Izzie a hasty kiss, catching the side of her mouth but tasting enough of her Chapstick to smile. She started to walk away, backwards. “I don’t know how, but I’ll pay you back. Promise.”

“Turn around before you trip!” Izzie shooed her away. 

And as Casey did just that, springing down the hallway in a bouncy half-jog, Izzie’s eyes followed her until she finally vanished around a corner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like your toxic ex-girlfriend who thinks having green eyes is a personality trait, I am back, asking you to forgive my blatant neglect. 
> 
> Hey, but seriously: my bad. I started writing this chapter forever ago, but it just got so long and meandering that I stopped trying to contend with it. I decided to split it into multiple parts, and that was very helpful. Also, I've just gotten back into *reading* fanfic again and have come to the horrifying realization that pretty much every author replies to their commenters? So, while I have been replying to your praise and observations mentally, I have otherwise been ignoring your attempts at discourse. (I am literally your toxic ex-girlfriend???) My bad for the trash etiquette, too.
> 
> TL;DR I’mma do better.


	7. Of All Days, Tuesday pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, Tuesdays can be really, really stressful.

**10:56AM**

The truth?

Izzie had crushed Aisling’s quiz—and she wouldn’t need to wait on getting her official grade back to know it. 

All the proof she’d needed was the proud nod Aisling gave her when she finally rose from her desk to hand her test in. She’d finished before everyone else, and even after double-checking her work had looked up at the clock to find she still had minutes to spare. 

Of course, Izzie’d known better than to raise any eyebrows by turning her test in too early. Instead, she’d sat there and waited, trying to run the clock down and avoid making too much eye contact with Aisling, who, when Izzie did accidentally meet her stare, gave her a funny look as if to say, _ What’re you waiting for? _Granted, Izzie couldn’t come right out and tell her teacher that the last thing she wanted was for everyone to know how well she was doing in her class.

There was no reason to believe that Izzie would benefit from that kind of attention. She knew her classmates well enough to know who was struggling because they just didn’t get it, and who was struggling because they just didn’t care. Either way, it would only be a matter of time before all of them—the mathematically-challenged _ and _the slackers—were hounding her for notes, study guides, or maybe outright test answers if they thought she could be bought. 

She didn’t need that shit. 

Especially not now that colleges were looking at her, inquiring about her grades and academic interests because they didn’t want to sink too much money into yet another student-athlete who didn’t care so much about the student part. She couldn’t afford distractions, and she didn’t have time to play tutor to some rich asshole who would’ve just preferred a cheat sheet anyway. 

Izzie idled at her desk, taking her time to put everything back into her backpack.

When the classroom had finally cleared, she walked up to Aisling’s desk. 

“I took a look at that scholarship you mentioned.” 

Aisling sat back in her chair and smiled. She was younger than a lot of the teachers at Clayton, but her maturity shone in her modest style. She wore very little makeup and nude pantyhose that reminded Izzie of the women her grandmother used to play dominoes with before she passed away. 

“And?”

“I’m gonna apply. Can’t hurt to try, right?”

Aisling nodded pensively. “I want you to do more than try, Izzie.”

“No—I know, I just meant…” She nodded awkwardly. “I wanna get it.”

“I trust you’ve read the application requirements?” Izzie nodded as Aisling went on, “You’ll need a rec letter—I’ll take care of that, unless you’ve got someone else in mind, a copy of your transcripts, proof of your need for financial aid, and—”

“The application essay.” Izzie interrupted. 

“Yes, the essay.” Aisling paused. “I can help with that, too, if you’d like me to take a look before you send it off.”

Izzie nodded, relieved that Aisling had offered before she could ask. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

Students could be seen passing just beyond the classroom door, and tidbits of their conversations overheard as they made their way to their next classes.

“I should go.” Izzie smiled. “Lunch.”

Nodding, Aisling gestured to a brown paper bag on her desk. “Girl’s gotta eat.”

Chuckling, Izzie turned to leave, thinking how oddly comforting it was to hear her teacher refer to herself as a girl, and knowing that she brought her lunch to school the same way she did. 

As Izzie traversed the halls to reach Casey’s English class, she tried to pinpoint, when, exactly _ that _ had started: either the harmonious relationship between herself and macroeconomics _ or _ Aisling’s sudden mentorship. Both things seemed to have just _ happened _over the last couple of weeks, until, eventually, Izzie realized that she was not only acing the class, but had found something of a new coach in the daunting, self-serious Dr. Sofia Aisling. 

Aisling had started to push her how only Crowley had ever pushed her, only Aisling wasn’t doing it from the driver side of a golf cart, leaning out from behind the wheel every now and then to shout, “Wide strides! Wide strides!” Rather, Aisling was quieter in her approach, sometimes silent, except for the perfect cursive she’d been scrawling in the margins of Izzie’s homework and quizzes: _ Excellent job, Fantastic work here, _ and Izzie’s personal favorite, _ Your grasp of deregulated markets is very impressive! _

Excelling in the class had made Izzie feel smart, but flourishing under Aisling’s watchful eye had boosted her confidence in a way that wasn’t translatable to winning races. Not that Izzie had self-esteem issues or anything like that, she was just realistic about her odds: she was a street smart athlete who knew how to throw a punch, not a multimillionaire heiress or prize-winning scholar. 

But the fact remained that Aisling had gotten her to think about those odds in a new light, because, really, if Izzie understood how money worked better than a bunch of rich kids… anything was possible. 

Smiling to herself, Izzie leaned against a row of lockers. Moments later, the classroom door across from her swung open, unleashing a barrage of irritated students, mumbling about being kept over class time. Casey’s height helped her stand out in the vexed crowd.

“Kill me,” She groaned, approaching Izzie. 

“Hello to you, too.” She forced herself to smile, recognizing the stress in Casey’s face and the tension in her posture. 

Already, the excitement of passing Aisling’s test had transformed from an airy swell of pride to a leaden ball of guilt.

_ Obviously, _ Izzie had wanted to tell Casey about how she was kicking ass in macro and how, despite her reputation, Aisling was actually really nice. But Izzie had wanted to be cautious about her excitement, too. She didn’t want to get ahead of herself or seem like she was bragging—and, well, by the time she’d passed enough quizzes to rule out any flukes, this _ thing _was too far gone.

Casey groaned again.

“What’s wrong now?” Izzie asked, pushing her thoughts aside and taking her by the hand. 

“This Tuesday is a total Monday.” Casey cracked her knuckles idly. “I read the wrong chapter last night, so all of my homework was wrong.” 

Izzie furrowed her brow. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Casey sighed, beginning their walk to the cafeteria. “How was the quiz?”

Izzie looked at her, trying to determine how much honesty her girlfriend could handle at the moment. 

Casey shook her head. “It’s fine—I already know I’m gonna fail it, so just… tell me how bad it’s gonna be.”

Izzie ruminated, guilt rising in her chest, filling her throat.

“It was tough, even for Aisling.” _ Truth. _

Casey nodded, then shrugged. “You still think I should cram?”

“Um…” An oncoming student weaved around them. “Yeah, that might help.” _ Half-truth. _

There was a long pause as they started down a narrow hallway.

Casey turned to her. “Iz, how are you not freaking out about this? Crowley said she’d pull us from meets if we had any C’s by midterms.”

Izzie could feel her chest tightening. “Actually, um, I—”

Before she could finish, Violet Petras-Hyde and her posse were upon them, swarming.

“Izzie!” Violet grinned, ignoring Casey. “Oh my god, today’s the day! Can you believe it?”

Izzie’s _ fangirls_, as Casey had taken to calling them in private, consisted of a five-member group of freshman girls that had been trailing Izzie’s heels and walking in her shadow since the semester first started. They lived, it appeared, solely to fawn over Izzie as they prepared for JV track tryouts. 

Izzie smiled through her surprise, grateful for the interruption. “Time flies.”

Casey watched as Violet and the others positioned themselves in front of them, blocking their path to the cafeteria. 

“We wanted to ask for some last-minute advice.” Violet gestured to the grinning girls that flanked her slender body. 

“Oh, sorry, guys,” Izzie glanced at Casey, noting her annoyance, “We’re actually just on our way to lunch” 

“Yeah.” Casey deadpanned, lifting her lunchbox. “We’re hungry.”

In unison, the fangirls’ faces fell.. Casey stepped back instinctively, creeped out by their homogeneity. Despite their different heights, hair colors, and races, each of the girls had the same general body language and look: needle thin, well-groomed, stupidly rich. 

“Oh.” Violet’s voice was dramatically soft, wounded. “Okay, then, we’ll see you later?”

Casey clenched her jaw when she saw the strawberry blonde pulled her best pout. Violet Petras-Hyde, or_ HPV _ , as Casey called her _ because she was fucking everywhere, _was on the fast-track to becoming her least favorite person at Clayton, hot on the heels of Nate. And it truly perplexed Casey how Izzie could put up with her.

“You guys are gonna do fine. You’ve been conditioning for weeks.” Izzie spoke calmly to reassure the girls. 

“You think so?” Violet looked back and forth between Casey and Izzie. “We’re so nervous.”

Izzie squeezed Casey’s hand apologetically. “Yeah. All of you have made a lot of progress.”

Casey sighed, knowing her girlfriend had taken the bait. She looked over the fangirls again. They were practically children as far as the high school food-chain was concerned, and breaking all sorts of unspoken social rules by hounding Izzie like she was some sort of Advice Machine and not a cripplingly hot senior with major bedroom eyes. 

Okay, so maybe they didn’t see Izzie _ exactly _how Casey did… but still, it was the principle. 

“Will you come watch us?” One of the other girls, a shorter redhead, asked.

“No!” A different girl, this one with long thin braids, blurted. “Oh my god, that’ll just make me extra nervous.”

“No it won’t, it’ll make us try harder!” The first girl argued back. 

“Ladies,” Violet interrupted condescendingly, “I think we should let Izzie decide for herself if she wants to come.”

Everyone, Casey included, turned to Izzie expectantly then. 

Izzie cleared her throat. “Actually, we can’t go.” She leaned into Casey just a bit. “Varsity practices through tryouts.” 

Again, the girls’ disappointment unfolded identically, and again Casey turned her body slightly away from them. 

“You guys are gonna kill it. Just remember to relax. Nerves can slow you down.” Izzie gave Casey’s hand another squeeze, hoping she’d catch the innuendo.

Although the girls nodded their understanding, Izzie could still sense their apprehension. Beside her, Casey was straining to see the cafeteria over Violet’s shoulder, wanting to snag their preferred table before someone else got to it. She turned to Izzie, arching her eyebrows as if echoing Aisling, _ Well, what’re you waiting for? Let’s go. _

Izzie looked back at the girls. Their eyebrows were overplucked and their hands were wrapped tight around the quick-release clasps of their backpacks. They reeked of earnestness and insecurity, and no amount of money could camouflage that if you’d grown up how Izzie had, always having to read between the lines and suss out people’s true intentions.

Yes, Izzie had noticed that the girls could be a bit intense, and often enough they seemed more like a cult than a group of friends, but so what? That hardly made them the strangest —or most threatening—people at Clayton. And really, there was no point in shaming a bunch of freshmen for being, well, freshmen. Especially since Izzie could still remember being a weirdly focused 14-year-old herself. 

She could recall watching her first mock relay at Clayton with butterflies in her stomach, and feeling the sudden urge to drop to her knees and worship the senior sprinters as they’d zipped by. More than anything, though, she remembered how taken she’d been with Tamara Lewis the very minute she’d seen her. 

Tamara had been Clayton’s varsity captain the first year Izzie enrolled at the school, and Izzie had, shamelessly, wanted to do all things like her: act, dress, talk, look like, and run. In hindsight, Tamara had been her first—and excruciatingly latent—girl crush. But even when Izzie put her sexuality aside, she could see how utterly desperate she’d once been to impress Tamara. And that remembrance made it easy to empathize with the group of freshmen that now stood before her. 

“Yeah, so, we should probably go.” Casey mumbled, rocking on her heels. 

Izzie peered around at everyone again, smiling proudly, knowing that she’d probably still be falling all over herself trying to get Tamara to notice her if she hadn’t already beaten every single one of her records. 

As her eyes fell over the pack of girls, she resolved not to play the part of the aloof senior captain that treated freshmen like mosquitos—no matter how much Casey didn’t like them. (And really, she had a sneaking suspicion that the _ real _reason Casey didn’t like them was because they never laughed at any of her jokes.)

“You guys know why JV tryouts are in fall even though the season starts in spring, right?” Izzie waited for their response, but the girls only stood there. 

Casey seized the silence. “Because Clayton spent a bajillion dollars on an indoor track and somebody’s gotta use it?”

None of the girls laughed until Izzie did; Casey’s shoulders stiffened.

“No. Well, that’s true, but not why.” Izzie nudged Casey’s side. “Crowley knows you guys are new to this level of running, so she tries to get you on the track as early as possible. More time to train, means more time to get fast. So, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but her expectations are pretty low. Just do your best.” 

Izzie nodded at each of her underlings, eyes locking with the tallest of the bunch, a gangly girl named Tessa. She was pale with dark freckles and long brown hair that desperately needed trimmed, and she smiled weakly under Izzie’s gaze.

The warning bell rang and the remaining students in the hallway scattered.

“Finally,” Casey muttered to herself, leading Izzie away now. 

“Thanks for the hair tie, Izzie!” A mousy girl with her cardigan tied over her shoulders called after them, revealing the slight sheen of her Invisalign inserts. “Promise to give it back!” 

Izzie waved off the girl’s gratitude, chuckling to herself.

“Sorry I didn’t save you sooner.” Casey smiled meekly, grazing Izzie’s knuckles with her fingertips.

Izzie rolled her eyes. “Why are you so afraid of them?”

“Why _ aren’t _you afraid of them?” Casey turned to her as they picked up the pace, walking more quickly, footsteps falling into sync. “Violet clearly wants to, like, bathe in your blood or something.”

“Oh, come on, don’t you remember being a freshman?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

But Casey did remember being a freshman. Vividly. She’d been scrawny, but way taller than the other ninth graders, and as a result constantly mistaken for one of Newton’s countless amazonian volleyball players. She’d worn her hair long back then, past her shoulders, but always defaulted to pulling it back and wearing it in a low ponytail—which may or may not have made her look like a young Swedish man. 

Casey grimaced at the memories that flooded her as they neared the cafeteria doors. 

She’d once been so nondescript and painfully shy, known only for having a “weird ass brother.” Coach Briggs, merely her gym teacher at the time, had changed all of that when he developed a sudden interest in her. According to him, he’d taken one look at the length of her legs and the stretch of her wingspan and known immediately that she was track material.

Even now, it was still a mystery how Coach Briggs had come to that conclusion because Casey had mostly used her freakishly long limbs to avoid being speared in the face by boys who took dodgeball way too seriously. Nevertheless, she’d turned out to be the natural-born runner that Coach Briggs had suspected all along. The rest was history.

“You guess?” Izzie raised her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“What?” Casey smiled as Izzie stared at her. “Are you trying to imagine me as a freshman now?”

“Obviously!” Izzie chuckled. She pretended to stroke an imaginary beard. “Let me guess: big Taylor Swift fan, way too much eyeliner?”

Casey guffawed.

“Damn.” Izzie grinned cockily. “I nailed it, didn’t I?” 

“Not at all.” Casey shook her head before stepping aside to let Izzie move in front of her. 

The single corridor that led to the cafeteria and the courtyard behind it had grown busy, as it usually did in the last seconds that ticked by before the final bell rang. They fell into the frantic crowd, weaving past oncoming bodies and backpacks. 

“See, now I know you’re lying.” Izzie had to raise her voice to hear herself. “_ Everyone _ had a Taylor Swift phase!”

Casey leaned in closer to her, smiling when Izzie’s hair tickled her chin. “Fine, I did like Taylor Swift.” She paused to let Izzie open the cafeteria doors for them. “But I didn’t worship her. Or, you know, follow her around from class to class and faint when she let me borrow a hair tie.”

The human traffic thinned as they emerged on the other side of the cafeteria. 

In the far-right corner of the room, they could see Penelope, Quinn, and Bianca already seated and waiting for them.

The late bell sounded then, and two boys burst through the cafeteria doors behind them, laughing.

“Case,” Izzie’s voice was soft, but serious. “I know they creep you out. They make me feel… weird sometimes, too. But think about how hard it is to be a freshman at _ this _ school. This place eats people.”

Unnoticed by her feasting peers, Casey looked around the cafeteria. She thought back to the lost girl she’d helped earlier that morning, then back to how her first couple of months at Clayton had been. “Fine. You’re right.”

Izzie nodded her thanks then started for their lunch table, halting as Casey held her back by the hand. 

She turned around confused. “What?”

“I just wanna know where this kind of sympathy was when _ I _ was the new kid.”

Izzie laughed as she reached out for Casey’s shoulders and gave them a gentle shake. “I’ve apologized for that a million times. I was a total bitch, I know.”

Casey tried not to smile. She’d long forgiven Izzie for the catastrophe that was their introduction, but it would never not be fun to tease her about it. 

“Look at it this way,” she smirked, “I was _ clearly _ just suppressing my feelings for the hot new girl.”

Casey’s grin overtook her face. ”Good save.”

**11:04AM**

“Fuck my life.” Penelope stabbed another baby carrot with her fork. Pink mylar balloons—one of them a giant “1,” the other a giant “8”—bobbed beside her head as she bit into the vegetable with a vicious chomp. 

“Can’t you splurge a little bit?” Izzie reached into the bottom of her paper bag to withdraw a napkin. “It’s your birthday.”

Penelope chewed the carrot slowly. 

“No, Izzie.” Her voice was cold, condescending. “I cannot ‘splurge a little bit,’ we don’t all have offers yet.”

Casey and Quinn snuck Izzie a furtive glance. 

“Fine, eat your carrots then.” Izzie responded, trying not to roll her eyes. 

To say that things had been tense since talk of full-ride scholarships had started would be putting things lightly. 

There was a pervasive anxiety among all the seniors on the track team as everyone tried to pull down bigger, better offers from bigger, better schools. The first meet of the season wasn’t for another couple of months, but the way Crowley conditioned her varsity team (see: year-round with zero fucks given) made it hard for the girls to feel like the clock hadn’t already started ticking. 

And while most of the seniors had offers coming in left and right, Penelope, notably, hadn’t received any serious interest from big-name colleges. The recruiters that came to Clayton’s scrimmages usually left with little to say about her, and the single scout that had ventured all the way out to Connecticut to watch Penelope run had ended up being wooed by a junior on their team instead.

In effect, a rather toxic balancing act had been forced upon the track team. Whenever someone received a new scholarship offer, they had to be _ just _ the right level of excited in order to keep the peace: get _ too _ excited and Penelope would accuse you of trying to make her feel bad, don’t get excited _ enough _ and Penelope would accuse you of feeling bad for her. 

The kicker was: Penelope didn’t _ need _a scholarship to go to any school of her choosing. All she had to do was apply and her family would handle the rest; the Allards had money, connections, and a good bit of power over the local government if they needed it, too. As such, Penelope’s frustration was entirely rooted in appearance and ego—not any legitimate concern that she wouldn’t be able to go to college if her track career fell through. 

Even knowing this unflattering truth, Casey, Izzie, and Quinn had still tried to be understanding. 

A tense quiet fell over the table. 

Avoiding Penelope’s eyes, Casey unloaded her lunchbox. She’d been hoping to discuss Aisling’s pop quiz, get a feel for what to study at least, but it was clear that she’d only be opening a different can of worms. She was already having the Tuesday from hell, and the last thing she needed was to end up like Penelope’s poor carrots: unceremoniously stabbed with a fork. 

Across the table, Izzie reached into her lunch bag and retrieved a small yellow apple. In the seat next to her, Bianca, the latest addition to their lunch table and ever uninterested in the intergroup drama, checked her texts then Twitter. 

Defeated by the silence, Quinn was the first to speak again. 

She gestured to Penelope’s lunch. “Carrots are lowkey delicious, right? My mom makes this dessert called gajar ka halwa. It’s basically pudding, but, like, with carrots and sugar and...” Sensing Penelope’s disinterest in her story, Quinn blushed. 

Penelope stared at her. “So it’s, what? Carrot pudding?”

Quinn laughed nervously. “Yeah, no, it sounds so gross, but it’s actually…” She swallowed. “It’s actually pretty good.”

“That’s really cool.” Casey chimed in before Penelope could say anything rude. “All my mom makes for me is…” she squinted down at the green mash in her tupperware, “Whatever this is.”

Curious, everyone appraised Casey’s lunch. 

“Ooh!” Izzie leaned over excitedly and stole a forkful of the green dish without asking. She chewed it pensively for a moment, then nodded knowingly. “Mhm. Broccoli rice salad with champagne vinegar.”

“Okay, what?” Casey laughed, looking back down at her lunch. “How do you know that?”

Bianca set her phone down, suddenly interested. “There’s champagne in that?”

Izzie grinned, shaking her head. “Elsa’s been talking about trying that recipe for weeks.” She reached into her blazer pocket and withdrew her phone.

“What are you doing?” Casey stared at her in disbelief.

Izzie gaped. “What? I wanna tell her how good it turned out.”

“No, no way.” Casey shook her head, “I draw the line at you and Elsa texting about my lunch.”

Increasingly amused, Bianca held her hand up to halt the conversation. “Wait a minute, why is Izzie texting your chef?”

“My—?” Casey started, then turned to Izzie so they could both erupt into a fit of laughter. 

Soon, Quinn was laughing too. And then Bianca, even though she didn’t fully understand what was so funny. The mood at the table had begun to lighten. 

Casey emptied her lunchbox on the table, hopeful for a fruity yogurt or granola bar of some sort. “Elsa’s my mom, not my—”

A hollow clang made everyone jump.

When they turned to the source of the jarring sound, they found Penelope had flipped one of her pyrex dishes over. A handful of loose carrots rolled out onto the table.

“This is the worst birthday of my life.” Penelope sat with her fists clenched on either side of the upturned container, unfazed by the small mess she’d made. 

“Woah.” Casey leaned over to touch her shoulder, “Calm down, Pen.” 

“Here we go.” Bianca muttered under her breath, contempt written all over her face. 

Bianca Allard was one of the ten Emmett transfers that had arrived last week, only she didn’t have the same general air of confusion about her as the other nine. She’d grown up with a lot of the Clayton kids, shared the same ritzy zip codes and country clubs as them, so she was hardly a new face around the school. 

Bianca was also Penelope’s cousin, which, as far as Casey, Izzie, and Quinn were concerned, explained a-fucking-lot. 

“Can you not be a bitch for one day, Bianca?” Penelope snapped at her.

In response, Bianca merely snickered.

“I’m 18 today. It’s supposed to be a big deal.” Penelope cut her eyes at Bianca. “I don’t wanna just buy lottery tickets and cigarettes, like _ some _people.”

Casey, Izzie, and Quinn looked down at their lunches, up at the cafeteria skylights, around at the eating students—anywhere other than the feuding cousins at their table. 

Bianca smirked as she unscrewed the cap of her seltzer water. “Trust me, Penny, you could use a fuckin’ cigarette right now.” 

Penelope stewed as the poised, dark-haired girl proceeded to set out her lunch: a professionally prepared spread of pita bread, vegan lentil soup, and kale chips. “You’re being a drama queen, and your friends might be afraid to tell you, but _ I’m _ not.” Bianca glanced around the table then, implicating the silent trio.

“You guys think I’m being a drama queen?” Penelope seethed, eyes jumping from Quinn to Izzie, then Izzie to Casey, before finally settling on an anxious Quinn. 

“I think you’ve been, like… you know, under a lot of pressure and stuff.” The guilt in Quinn’s face was evident.

Izzie leaned forward, lowering her voice to defuse the situation. “You’ve been stressed, Pen. We get it.” 

“Yeah,” Quinn leaned forward as well now, “We love you. It’s cool.”

Bianca rested her spoon on an embroidered cloth and stared Penelope down boldly. “No. It’s not cool. You can’t keep taking your shit out on your friends.” She paused thoughtfully. “We both saw what happened to Uncle Joel.”

She picked her spoon back up. Then, realizing that Casey, Izzie, and Quinn didn’t have enough context to fully appreciate her reference, turned to them. “Our Uncle Joel blew a major stock play a couple years ago, then blamed everyone else in our family for ‘not warning him.’ So at first, everyone just apologized and tiptoed around him when he got scary angry about it. He just wouldn’t let it go, though, so eventually we just stopped inviting him to family stuff. But then last year he showed up to Christmas, totally uninvited, drunk off his ass. Pissed all over the present—and himself—then passed out on Penny’s bed.” Bianca gave a casual shrug. “So our grandmother gave his inheritance away. Like, literally called our family executor on December 26th to have him written out of the will.”

Everyone turned, mouths ajar, to Penelope. 

“Whatever.” Penelope crossed her arms. “Uncle Joel was a dick before he lost all his money.” 

“That’s true.” Bianca stirred her soup. “But you’re missing the point.” 

Penelope looked around the table again, yet another round of stare roulette unfolding. Only this time, her gaze settled on Casey. 

“What about you? You’ve been awfully quiet.” Penelope’s tone was expectant, losing patience. “What do you think, Casey?

Casey, who was still processing the image of Penelope’s drunken uncle crashing through her house and urinating on Christmas presents, sat up straight. 

“Um.” Casey chewed her inner lip, peering down at Elsa’s broccoli rice salad for help. “I think… Well… You’ve been a little scarier than usual lately.” She gave Penelope a half-smile, hoping she might appreciate the joke. 

But when Penelope didn’t crack a smile, didn’t so much as blink, everyone sat rigid in their seats. Even Bianca looked a little concerned by Penelope’s utter lack of a reaction. The silence was deafening as the four of them sat there, waiting, growing more and more anxious with each second that passed, each second that Penelope didn’t use to swear, or scream, or storm off. 

Penelope’s eyes started to water, but then, as if seeming to remember that she was not the sort of person who allowed herself to cry in public, she shook her head and regained her composure. She took a deep breath to clear her voice of quivers. 

“Well I’m _ so _ sorry I’ve been making everyone _ so _ uncomfortable.” As she spoke these words, laced them with sarcasm and insincerity, she was surprised to find herself meaning them. She frowned. “I just thought senior year was gonna be… different.”

“Senior year just started, dude.” Casey’s voice was soft as she nudged Penelope’s side. “We’re like, a week into November.”

Izzie nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we haven’t even had winter break yet.”

“Or prom. Or senior skip day. Or anything good, really.” Bianca noted, some of her icy demeanor melting. 

“And it’s Tuesday, okay?” Izzie smiled wide. “We can’t celebrate tonight, but _ obviously _we’re gonna party.”

Penelope started to smile, then frowned again. “I know, but…” She looked up at the balloons that Quinn had tied to the back of her chair and sighed. 

Izzie raised her eyebrows. “But what?”

“Nothing,” Penelope began picking up her carrots and setting them back into their container. “It’s stupid, forget it.”

But whatever Penelope refused to say, Quinn had seemed to understand. The copper-skinned girl stood up from the table with a jump, grinning. “I’ll be right back.”

As Quinn streaked back and forth across the cafeteria, pinging from table to table, mumbling to different cliques as they ate their lunches, the girls at the lunch table continued to talk. 

“So you are having a party, right?” Casey had moved on to a small bag of veggie straws. 

“I mean, yeah.” Penelope shrugged, only slightly distracted by Quinn’s scrambling on the other side of the cafeteria. “But my dad’s got me touring Princeton on Friday, so it’s not like I have time to plan anything this week.”

Bianca grinned wickedly. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Penny. Leave the party to me.”

Penelope rolled her eyes, begrudging her cousin a stubborn smile. “Like you were going to let me plan it, anyway.” 

“I always threw better parties than her,” Bianca draped a separate napkin across her lap as she focused her attention on Casey and Izzie now. “She’s still bitter about everyone liking my seventh grade sleepover better than hers.” 

“Yeah, because you sent everyone home with new hoverboards!” Penelope pleaded her case. “You bribed them, Bianca.”

“Call it whatever you want.” Bianca lifted a spoonful of soup up to her full lips and smirked. “All our friends called me Oprah for, like, two years.”

Casey and Izzie laughed, and Penelope, despite her fierce commitment to misery, laughed too. 

Quinn returned to the table then, beaming from ear to ear with her hands hidden behind her back. 

“Whatcha got there?” Izzie asked, munching on a pretzel stick, amused by the eventful lunch she was having. 

“Ta-da!” Quinn brandished a nondescript protein bar. Across the front of the packaging in large, block letters was the word: BROWNIE BLAST. 

Penelope smiled warily. “What the hell is that?” 

Quinn began unwrapping the chocolatey bar, then set it down before her. “I present to you: one low-sugar, gluten free, keto-friendly birthday brownie.” 

Penelope flushed bright red as she laughed and accepted the treat. She was overcome with appreciation for her best friend’s reliable forgiveness. She peered up at Quinn, feeling once again she felt like she might cry, and once again she took a deep breath to compose herself. 

“Thanks.” She broke off a small piece of the brownie and inspected it.

“Wait!” Quinn practically smacked the morsel out of her hand. She looked around the table, peering into Bianca’s lunchbox and the disorganized pile of Casey’s food. 

“Uh,” Penelope shifted in her seat. “What’re you doing?” 

Bianca rolled her eyes, understanding immediately. She reached over to Izzie’s lunch, swiping one of her pretzel sticks.

“Help yourself.” Izzie muttered.

“Here.” Bianca held the pretzel out to Quinn, who accepted it gleefully. 

Finally, Quinn planted the pretzel stick smack dab in the middle of Penelope’s birthday brownie. It was the saddest, driest, most lopsided candle any of them had ever seen, and it made all five of them wheeze with laughter. 

Penelope smiled. “It’s perfect.” 

Then, Quinn looked around the cafeteria, giving her onlookers the signal. 

“_Happy birthday to you…_” she started to sing. 

“Quinn, no.” Penelope started to stop her, mortified. “No, no, stop.”

But it was too late. 

“_Happy birthday to you._” Casey, Izzie, and Bianca joined in, snickering as Penelope’s face turned beet red.

“_Happy birthday, dear Penelope._” The entire cafeteria sang in unison now. 

**11:46AM**

Casey and Izzie held hands as they trekked through one of three hallways in Clayton’s west wing. Study hall, and every other library-based elective, was held on the near side of campus in an annex building that Casey liked because the layout reminded her of Newton. 

“So I’ve been thinking, and…” Casey smiled at Izzie, taking a moment to fully appreciate how dark her eyes were and how prominently they stood out against her olive skin. “I actually do wanna borrow your macro notes.”

Surprised, Izzie nodded. “Oh, okay.”

They cut through the courtyard in pleasant silence, enjoying the cool air as it seized their bare legs and swept through their hair. Up ahead, a pair of massive doors swung open to empty out a channel of students that smiled as they passed by.

“And thank you.” Casey gave her backpack a shrug as she held one of the doors open for Izzie. “You know, for still offering to help me even though I’ve been kinda miserable today.”

Izzie grinned as she stepped around her. “You haven’t been that bad.”

Casey chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I’m not murdering baby carrots yet.”

“Okay, but what was that about?” Izzie’s stopped walking when they reached their spot: a recessed sitting area decorated with chesterfield chairs and a squat mahogany table. They’d been stealing away there every day after lunch, spending their final seconds together until they had to break apart to study. 

“I don’t know. Even for Penelope she was acting kind of…” She checked for eavesdroppers. 

“Crazy.” Izzie answered, slipping out of her backpack and sitting in one of the chairs.

“Yeah.” Casey sat in the seat beside hers. “And what’s with Bianca always egging her on like that?”

Izzie shrugged. She didn’t know Bianca very well, but she’d seen enough of her to know that she was a provocateur. Allowing, she’d known Penelope for years now, and knew that she thrived on drama in her own special way, too. “Guess their family’s just really intense?”

Casey slouched in her chair. “I guess.”

Izzie unzipped her bag and withdrew the folder that housed her macro notes. She hesitated for a moment, worried that Casey would lose them (or Rachel destroy them in a fit of rage?) before they could be returned to her. When she did finally hand them over, she found her girlfriend was grinning at her from ear-to-ear.

“What are you smiling about?” Izzie asked, smiling back.

Casey shook her head, reaching for the notes. “Nothing.”

Izzie snatched her folder away and smirked. “What’re you smiling about, Newton?”

Casey shrugged casually. “You’re just really cute.” She paused for a second. “And I wanna kiss you.” 

Izzie chuckled breathily. “So then kiss me.”

“Now?” Casey’s eyebrows were arched in question.

This time, Izzie gave a casual shrug. “Unless you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Then do it.” Izzie dared, “Kiss me.”

Wary, Casey surveyed the library. 

The walls were a freshly-painted navy blue, but adorned with the original gray wainscoting that revealed the true age of the space. Natural light poured into the open floor through an impressive window wall, scattering light upon bookshelves and tables. Based on the time Casey had spent at her Beta Club meetings—which sometimes convened in the library’s basement, a dark and musty space used primarily to store extra chairs, desks, and old chalkboards—she had grown to love the library in spite of now associating it with Rachel. 

Izzie leaned over the arm, whispering as she stared at Casey’s lips. “Scaredy cat.”

“We can’t.” Casey whispered back, feeling her body lean forward anyway. Before their lips could brush, someone across the floor sneezed and Casey jumped back startled. She was still frazzled as she scanned around them, noticing just how open their reading nook was, exposed not only to the information desk but also the librarian’s private office. 

Izzie fell into a fit of giggles watching her try to compose herself. 

“Shut up.”

“I mean,” Izzie shrugged, “I was waiting on you to shut me up.”

Frustrated with their lack of privacy, Casey groaned. “I can’t. Not here.”

“I know.” Izzie nodded. “Bathroom?”

“You have to go?” Casey turned her head in the direction of the restrooms.

“No, I… Nevermind.” Blushing, Izzie stood up and gathered her belongings. “See you after?”

Casey nodded.

They had learned the hard way that studying together was impossible. 

Things always devolved into a playful foot cast on someone’s study guide, or distractable conversation, or—when they tried to study at Casey’s house—an impromptu makeout session. It wasn’t until they both scored low C’s on the same reading quiz that they acknowledged their need to split up and buckle down if they wanted to get any actual work done. And so, after a few weeks of practice and some considerable self-restraint, they’d successfully gotten into the habit of occupying opposite ends of the library, separated by soaring shelves of books that no one had checked out in decades. 

When the warning bell sounded a couple of seconds later, Casey swung her backpack over her shoulder and dragged her feet to where she knew Rachel was waiting for her. 

“Hey,” she approached the same table they always sat at, the one Rachel had picked for them weeks ago. It was a high, oval table with ladder-back barstools, situated in a coveted spot in the leftmost corner of the library overlooking the courtyard. Even still, Casey couldn’t imagine anyone being bold enough to try and steal it from her.

“Sit, please.” Rachel didn’t look up from the novel perched on her lap. “You’ve got a quiz today.”

Casey sat across from her. “Yeah, I know, I was just about to say that.”

“Right.” Rachel closed the book and set it beside her, face down so that it was impossible to see what she was reading. She pushed a tuft of frizzy curls back from her face and regarded Casey with an unimpressed look.

_ Just ignore her. Just ignore her. If you leap across this table and kill her you will go to jail and never get to UCLA. _

“I brought notes.” Casey set Izzie’s folder down in the center of the table and watched as Rachel reached for them, eager to find the faults within, no doubt. “But they’re not m—”

“Woah.” Rachel’s eyes bulged as she peered down at the open folder. 

“What?” Casey asked, leaning over to see.

Rachel thumbed through the notes slowly, stricken. “Who’d you buy these from?” 

Annoyed, Casey allowed herself a quick eye roll. “I didn’t buy them from anyone.”

Rachel slid one of the pages out from the folder and turned it around, revealing an intricate economic model replete with color-coding, a symbol key, and handsketched plot points. “You’re telling me these are _ your _ notes?”

A look of confusion clouded over Casey’s face. 

“Relax, it’s not cheating. Well, not really.” Gently, Rachel returned the drawing to the folder. “And hey, I don’t know who you’re bankrolling, but at least you’re getting your money’s worth.” She tapped the folder with her pen, then, for the first time since Casey had known her, she smiled. “This person knows their stuff.”

# ——

Across the library, Izzie had settled for one of the single-seat study desks rather than a shared table. She’d checked out one of the library’s laptops and was typing away furiously, entering her log-in information for the _ Rose Foundation's Women in Economics _scholarship website. She’d been frequenting the page, checking it twice, thrice, six times a day to make sure the deadline hadn’t mysteriously passed even though she knew she had a solid month to finish her applications.

Izzie’s eyes lingered on the _ Upload Essay _ tab. 

It was grayed out, incomplete. So astonishingly incomplete, unattempted.

Sighing, she clicked on the tab anyway, revealing the prompt page:

** _ In 2,000 words or less, write about one of the following prompts: _ **

  * _A person that has impacted your life, and how you hope to one day repay them. _
  * _A turning point in your life, and how it shaped you into the person you are today. _
  * _Your biggest success to date, and how it is relevant to your need for the Rose Foundation's Women in Economics Scholarship._

Izzie didn’t need to reread the prompts. She had read them a hundred times, committed them to memory. They were all equally generic, equally dressed up to seem introspective and dee—but they weren’t. They were exactly the kind of questions that existed on every other scholarship application, which might explain why Izzie hadn’t applied to any of those, either.

Frustrated, she yanked one of her headphones out; her _ Peaceful Piano _ playlist continued to play in her right ear. 

She drummed her pen against the blank page of her notebook. The three pages before it consisted of started and stopped mind maps, scribbled-through lists and bubbles of potential ideas. She could see the faint imprint of her last brainstorming attempt on the new page, trace its outline with the tip of her finger. 

The irony was, there were a shit ton of people who had impacted Izzie’s life, none of which she was planning on repaying: her oblivious mother who consistently put men before her children; her absent father who’d crept out of the picture in the middle of the night when she was a baby; the countless lunch ladies who’d seen that she didn’t have new clothes or decent shoes, and still made her put her lunch back when her account was empty; Nate.

The irony was, there were no shortage of turning points in Izzie’s life: the birth of her brothers and then Carla, who seemed to commemorate total leave of her mom’s senses; the introduction of boyfriend after boyfriend throughout her pubescent years, each one with a different vice; her fall from grace as Clayton’s top female runner, having been replaced by none other than her girlfriend; developing feelings for said girlfriend and having to rethink the life she had always imagined for herself.

The irony was, Izzie’s biggest success to date was making it this far without having a baby or a drug addiction to show for it. And how could she say that to these people? How could she make them understand that where she came from, how she grew up, it wasn’t a given that you would finish high school, let alone graduate from some private school that charged more in semesterly tuition than your household saw in a year? 

She wanted that scholarship so badly she’d been dreaming about it. She saw herself opening the congratulatory email, then awkwardly walking into the bank to open an account so the money actually had somewhere to go. She wouldn’t stash $20,000 under her mattress, she’d use it to buy books and food and a laptop she didn’t have to return after 30 minutes of use. She’d keep what she didn’t use in the bank, let it accrue interest, because unlike any of the adults in her family, she understood how interest worked, why it was important.

What she didn’t want, had been having nightmares about, was having to open her old wounds and pass them off as everyday life lessons to _ get _ that scholarship. She didn’t know what would happen if she drudged some of that shit up, and to be perfectly honest, she didn’t know how to talk about it without scaring the shit out of the scholarship committee, the panel that would read her essay and pass it around. Talk about it. Debate about it. Pick it apart. 

As she sat there, mad at herself for not just biting the bullet and exploiting everything she’d survived, she couldn’t help but think that Casey would know how to make her feel better about this. She would know how to make her laugh about the absurdity of this entire process, then get her to relax so that she could finally focus on it. Not for the first time since she’d tried to finish this application, Izzie felt stupid for not enlisting the help of her girlfriend—after all, it was Casey that kept her sharp and competitive on the track, wasn’t it? 

Izzie huffed, then exited out of the scholarship page. She opened a blank word document instead.

The cursor blinked at her mockingly. 

Izzie knew what she had to do. She put her left headphone back in and resolved to come clean to Casey. 

**12:31PM**

When Casey and Izzie reunited, neither of them were in a particularly good mood. Casey was certain, now more than ever, that she was going to fail Aisling’s quiz; and Izzie was certain, now more than ever, that she would never finish her scholarship application, let alone win it.

“Ready?”

“To tank my grade?” Casey swung her arm in mock cheer. “You betcha!”

Izzie only nodded in response; she was trying to break the habit of letting Casey mask her stress with jokes. 

They started their short walk back to the courtyard; their last classes of the day were on opposite sides of the campus, so they had to keep their goodbyes short. Once they’d reached the library doors, they both opened their mouths to speak.

“Oh,” Casey tried to smile, “Go ahead.”

Izzie shook her head and chuckled. “You first.”

“Okay, um.” Casey took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. She didn’t want to start a fight before she was set to take—and fail—this quiz, but she couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. The hunch that Izzie had been lying to her. 

She glanced out to the courtyard just as a couple across the way had leaned in for a quick kiss. “I really don’t even know how to ask you this.” 

“Ask me what?”

“It’s about macro.” She turned to face Izzie, further concerned by the worried look on her face.

Izzie cleared her throat. “Okay…”

“So, Rachel saw your notes and… Uh… She said something about…” Casey leaned closer, lowering her voice, “Are you buying notes?”

“What?” 

“It’s, it’s fine.” Casey looked around nervously. “Rachel says it’s not really cheating, anyway. I just don’t know why you didn’t tell—"

“Casey,” Izzie seethed, “I’m not buying notes from anyone.” 

Casey furrowed her brow. “Then how—" 

“How what? They’re _ my _notes.” 

A flash of rage pulsed through Izzie as she passed into the courtyard. Casey scurried behind her, catching the heavy door with her forearm before it could close on her. 

Outside, the small yard was quiet, and the air was still brisk. The library’s short overhang shaded them as a pair of cardinals pecked at something in the grass a few feet away.

When Izzie turned to face Casey again, her cheeks were flushed with fury. “How could you think that I would cheat when I’ve got just as much—no, even more than you—riding on this year?”

“It’s not cheating! Even Rachel said so!”

Izzie folded her arms over her chest. “Wow, then it must be true!” 

“Look, I’m sorry—"

“No, I’m sorry.” Izzie winced, the weight of Casey’s accusation fully sinking in. “I’m sorry you think I’m too stupid to pass Aisling’s class on my own.”

“Woah, wait a minute.” She held her hands up in defense. “I did not say that.”

Izzie scoffed. “Yeah, you didn’t have to.” 

“Okay, this clearly—I didn’t—when Rachel said that thing about buying them, I just figured—I just thought,” Casey continued to stammer as she tried to piece the situation together. 

Looking past her, Izzie held her hand out. “Give me my notes.”

Silent except for the defeated sigh she took, Casey slung her backpack around to her chest and rifled through her disorganized bag. When her fingers settled on the glossy plastic of Izzie’s notes folder, she withdrew it slowly, trying to get her girlfriend to look at her.

“Can you look at me for a sec? Iz, I’m sorry, okay?” She extended the folder towards her limply. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

Accepting her notes, Izzie narrowed her eyes. “You sure about that?”

Her face fallen, Casey nodded. “I could never think that about you.”

“Good.” She spoke through the hurt in her voice, over the pain erupting in her chest. “Because I’m not stupid. At all. In fact, I’m acing macro. I have been for weeks.” 

“What?” Casey asked, surprised.

Izzie stood her ground. “And I’m gonna major in it, too, because I’m good at it—I’m so good at it that Aisling’s writing me a rec letter for some stupid scholarship I might even get if I can just write the stupid essay for it!” 

“Hold on, what?” Casey’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. “What scholarship?”

“And you know what, Casey? I’ve felt so guilty for not telling you about it, because I didn’t know how to and you keep failing the tests and just assuming that I’mfailing them with you, but,” Izzie gave a heartbroken laugh, “It doesn’t even matter because you wouldn’t have believed me if I told you anyway.”

Casey was reeling, trying to wade her way through all of this information, understand the complexity of it to formulate a mature response but she was too overcome with disbelief.

“Wait, you knew I needed help in that class, and you just lied to me instead? You’ve just been letting me fail?” Both of her fists were clenched, even as she watched the water well up in Izzie’s eyes. “Because you ‘didn’t know how’ to bring it up?” 

“Don’t turn this around on me.” The break in Casey’s voice had softened Izzie for a moment, but she quickly snapped back to her firm defense. “This isn’t about that. You got help. Coach got you a tutor.”

“Rachel?” The suggestion set something off in Casey. “You mean the girl who thinks I’m some lazy, idiot athlete that _ pays _for their notes?” She gestured to the folder in Izzie’s hands. 

“Oh, like how you literally thought I was some lazy, idiot athlete that paid for their notes?” Izzie was trying not to scream now, conscious of the windows that lined the courtyard and the spectators they might have already attracted.

“I didn’t think that!” Casey fired back.

“And you didn’t pay for them, anyway, did you?” Izzie held the folder up. “I _gave _them to you. To _help you_, remember?”

Casey raked her fingers through her hair. “Yeah, thanks for finally getting around to that.”

Izzie rolled her eyes. “Fuck you.” 

“No. Fuck you_, _Izzie.”

Just then, the warning bell rang. Neither of them moved. 

Their silent stalemate stretched on, until it was certain that they would both be late to their last class of the day. 

Casey glanced around the empty courtyard then swallowed the lump in her throat. “You should probably find another ride home today.”

“Whatever,” Izzie turned to leave, “Good luck on your quiz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Quarantined.  
You? Also quarantined.  
This chapter? Long enough to let us both forget for a little.


	8. Amnesty for All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey and Izzie wade through the aftermath of their fight.

Clumps of half-dried sludge gathered at the bottom of the porch steps.

Casey stomped. 

And stomped. 

And stomped again, all the way up to the top of the stairs. 

She raked the bottom of her shoes over the concrete, which made a harsh grainy sound, until she saw that the soles of her running shoes were clean. 

As she continued her walk to the front door, she ignored the flecks of gray-brown mud that had splattered their way up and down her calves. _ That _ had been the messy bow on her catastrophic day, having to warm up on the grimey, grassy practice fields. Of course, Crowley had insisted, said the mud was “shock absorptive” and good for their calves. 

Casey rolled her eyes, remembering the ridiculous logic. 

She could see the living room light was on, and the nearer she drew to the front door, the more easily she could make out the voices of her parents just on the other side of the wall. 

She reached into the front pouch of her hoodie for her house keys. The key ring was packed with stuff: a house key, a car key, a locker key, a Clayton Track & Field wrist lanyard, a Walgreens card, a small can of mace her dad insisted she keep with her even though it weighed her keys down considerably, and, finally, a _ Jamaican Me Crazy _ keychain that she had inherited from Elsa, which felt weirdly wrong to remove even though she cringed every time she saw the little rastafarian smiley.

Sighing, Casey stepped back from the door and took a seat on the porch bench instead. 

She set her practice bag down on the ground in front of her, closed her eyes and took a deep breath—in through her nose, out through her mouth. She could see her breath, and feel how cold the firm bench pillow was beneath her, but two hours of sprints, ladders, and weaving her way in and out of agility cones had made her warm, limber. 

She could hear Elsa now. The swell of her mother’s light, feminine laughter radiated, pushing its way through the house until it reached the front porch. 

Casey grit her teeth. Took another deep breath.

Two long hours of practice and she was still angry.

Two long hours of pushing herself until it felt like she may never breathe again, and she was still angry.

Two long hours of trying to avoid Izzie, who Coach insisted on pairing her with because they were the only two people on the team who could keep up with each other, and _ of course _she was still angry.

Casey cast a casual glance over the front yard, eyes sweeping over the sleepy neighborhood. She took in the icy dawn, the trees she’d once tried to climb and the sidewalks she’d once biked along. It felt especially cruel to remember her childhood in times like these—when almost none of her problems were simple enough that they could be fixed with a big bowl of ice cream.

She was still reminiscing when the front door opened. Elsa, in her new fleece sweater and a plush magenta scarf, stepped out onto the porch, jumping in surprise when she saw her.

“You’re home!” She smiled, unaffected by Casey’s inability to smile back.

Casey nodded. “Yep.”

“Great, well—” she appraised her daughter, eyes falling to Casey’s bare legs, “Oh, now, come on! Get inside, you’re gonna catch a cold out here. I thought you were coming with us to Sam’s tonight?” Her lips flattened to a worried line. “The boys were really looking forward to it.”

Casey blinked at her. They both knew that Sam and Zahid didn’t care if she bailed on their housewarming dinner.

She groaned. “Don’t make me. I smell like a dog.”

“You’ve still got time to change.” Elsa walked towards her, taking up the practice bag. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Casey stared at her. 

Elsa stared back, for long enough that her enthusiasm visibly faltered. “I just miss you, Case. That’s all.”

Irritation flared in Casey’s chest. She didn’t want to go to dinner, she didn’t want to be guilt-tripped, and she didn’t want to get into whatever sentimental-touchy-feely shit Elsa had going on tonight.

“I’m right here, mom.” She stood up, irritated.

Elsa watched her, motherly and transgressing even when she didn’t speak. Casey stretched lazily. 

“I know, it’s just…”

“Fine, fine. I’ll go.” Casey snatched the gym bag from her and headed inside.

# ——

“Thanks for the ride.”

Izzie ducked into the SUV, setting her gym bag down on the pristine leather floor mat in front of her. 

“Sure.” Bianca nodded, steering her black Range Rover towards the mouth of the student parking lot.

“Penelope said she could take me, but then Declan surprised her for her birthday, so…” Izzie shrugged awkwardly, “I guess he drove all the way from Fairfield or whatever.”

Bianca nodded again, only half-listening. 

“Then I tried to ask Quinn, but she had already left, and then I asked Taylor but she had some volunteer thing, and I couldn’t ask Coach because… weird.” She paused, unzipping her jacket. “I know I’m all the way across town so, um, thanks.” 

“It’s cool.” Bianca checked her rearview mirror before changing lanes. “I had French club, anyway.”

Izzie chewed the inside of her cheek in silence. 

“Do you want to change this?” Bianca gestured to the radio, an array of chrome buttons and dials. “Everything’s bluetooth, so you can link your phone if you want.” 

“Oh.” The courtesy surprised her. “No, this is good.” And then, because the truth sounded oddly like a lie, she added, “I like whatever this is.”

This earned her an approving nod from Bianca.

“It’s Tove Lo.” She turned her head towards Izzie, but kept her eyes focused forward. “Girl’s got a serious drug problem, but name a popstar who doesn’t.”

Izzie nodded. 

A wave of silence fell over the car.

Bianca drove on, unfazed by the quietude, as Izzie checked her phone.

There were no new messages, no missed calls. 

Just as promised, Casey had gotten into her car after practice and left Izzie to fend for herself. She bit back a familiar sting: anger commingled with disappointment. 

Bianca observed Izzie out of the corner of her eye. She could see her turning the cellphone over in her hands, tapping it lightly so that it came back to life, then clicking it off again. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Bianca tried lightly.

“Huh?” Izzie’s head swiveled towards her.

She gestured to the phone in Izzie’s lap. “You and Casey are fighting.” 

There was no question in Bianca’s voice; she was merely stating fact. 

“Who says we’re fighting?” Izzie let the irritation in her voice be known, before realizing—stupidly—that her defensive reaction would only confirm Bianca’s suspicions. 

“A literal stranger is driving you home right now, girl.” Bianca mused aloud, unable to help rubbing it in just a bit. “I’d say it’s pretty obvious.”

“I didn’t ask you to drive me home.” The retort felt small and petty in Izzie’s mouth. They both knew her only alternative would have been to walk home in the freezing dark. 

“Not technically.” Bianca conceded, more bored than annoyed. “But what was I gonna do, leave you there?”

_ Yeah, why not? Casey did. _

Izzie bristled. 

For anyone else, Izzie’s discomfort would have been their cue to let up. But for Bianca, whose family was arguably the most cutthroat of the Allard dynasty—corporate lawyers where Penelope’s parents were tax lawyers, and her Uncle Joel and his ex-wife mere real estate lawyers—she knew to keep chipping away. Keep poking the bear. 

“And besides,” Bianca drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, strategizing. “You didn’t _ have _to ask me with Penny practically begging me.” She laughed to herself. “Don’t take it personally, she always flakes when she gets a better offer.” 

Izzie clenched her jaw, trying to calculate how much longer they had until they reached her house.

Bianca took a deep breath in through her nose, fighting off a smirk. Keep. On. Poking.

“I mean, honestly, Declan could’ve just followed behind you guys while she dropped you off, but no.” Bianca put on her best Penelope impersonation, replete with idle hair tossing and scoffs: “Could you, like, please take Izzie home because her and Casey are like, fighting or whatever, and Declan just showed up so I don’t wanna, like, leave him here.” 

Izzie scowled now. She wasn’t impressed, and she wasn’t laughing. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

_ Definitely not with you. _

Bianca rolled her eyes, refocusing on the road. “Fine.”

Just up ahead, a cross guard stood with a group of short middle schoolers. A silver whistle occupied the space between the portly woman’s teeth, and her steady gaze pierced through the windshield. She held her hand up, open and halting at the Range Rover, blowing her whistle loudly even after they came to a full stop.

Bianca laughed. “Holy shit she’s intense.”

Now Izzie bit her lip to keep from laughing as the crossing guard blew her whistle again, this time motioning for Bianca to back up. 

“Is she serious right now?” Bianca glanced in her rearview, then muttered. “There’s someone behind me, lady. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

The crossing guard blew her whistle once more, for even longer this time, sending Izzie into a fit of laughter. 

“Okay, okay,” Bianca chuckled nervously now.. 

The crossing guard’s whistle sounded again, shrill and indelicate. 

“Oh my god—” Bianca threw her car into reverse, fury starting to override her confusion. “There’s a car behind me! I can’t!” 

Izzie craned her neck to look behind them. 

There was, in fact, another car there, and behind its wheel a young woman who looked almost as confused as Bianca. Izzie could see the woman talking to herself, shaking her head, then leaning to either side to see what the hell was going on up ahead.

Bianca slowly reversed the vehicle, creeping backwards until the car behind them honked for her to stop.

Izzie laughed again. And when Bianca cast her a death glare, she simply laughed harder. 

Finally, the crossing guard waved the middle schoolers along the the street, keeping her steely gaze fixed on Bianca. 

“I will end this bitch’s career.” Bianca seethed. 

“Mmm, pretty sure she’s just a volunteer.” Izzie stretched out in her seat comfortably, enjoying the sight of a flustered Bianca. 

When the crossing guard waved them through with her gloved hand, the woman made sure to roll her eyes.

They drove in stark silence down the length of the road, until they reached another stoplight and Bianca turned to Izzie, an incredulous grin playing on her lips, “Okay but what the fuck was that about?” 

Izzie was overcome with laughter again. “I have no idea.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bianca checked her rearview mirror, but they were too far ahead to see the crossing guard now, “I thought she was gonna, like, shoot us or something.”

“I’m sorry: _ us? _” Izzie’s eyes widened. “She was mad at you, not me.”

“Whatever.” Bianca rolled her eyes, still smiling. “God, I hate the suburbs.”

A pleasant silence settled over them as one pop song faded out, bleeding into the start of another. But after a minute or two, Bianca looked to Izzie, tearing her eyes from the road just for a second. 

“You know, it’s cool if you don’t wanna talk about Casey with me, but...” 

All trace of Izzie’s newfound comfort vanished.

Bianca gave her a reassuring smile. “I _ am _an unbiased third-party, so if you really wanna know who the asshole is, I am more than capable of telling you. Trust me.”

Just before she refocused her attention to the road, Bianca caught sight of Izzie glaring at her. The gesture sent her into a fit of cackles. 

“What? Look, my parents are lawyers.” Bianca shrugged. “Our specialty is assholes—I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah, right.” Izzie didn’t look away from Bianca as she spoke. She wanted to superimpose the disgust she felt for this pushy, arrogant stranger back onto her, let it be known that after today she wanted nothing to do with her—no matter whose goddamn cousin she was. “You’re just trying to get dirt.”

“Well, yeah. That too.” Bianca sighed deeply. “Your school is boring as fuck.”

Izzie frowned feeling the weight of her phone in her hand, its conspicuous lack of vibration. 

“My drama’s not that interesting.” She’d only muttered it, but of course Bianca had heard her. 

A slow, triumphant grin spread across Bianca’s face. “So you admit there’s drama?” 

Izzie tensed. 

“Oh, come on, I _ just _told you my parents are lawyers. You walked right into that one.”

Despite herself, Izzie cracked a smile. 

They were passing by an old town center now, one of those rundown markets that people can’t be sure are even open anymore. Beyond its smorgasbord wares was a towering coffee symbol. 

“Do you care if we stop?” Bianca asked, having already cut her blinker on.

“Actually—” Izzie started, then remembered that nobody would be home waiting for her. 

No one would be expecting dinner, or a bath, or a bedtime story. There would be no distractions once Bianca had dropped her off, only the lifeless apartment. (And some frozen chicken tenders if she could be bothered to make them.)

Bianca was looking at her expectantly as she slowed to make the turn 

“Nevermind, yeah.” Izzie nodded. “Go ahead.”

# ——

She couldn’t hear her parents talking over the music in her headphones, and she preferred it that way. 

The 15-minute long car ride could easily be reduced to 4-6 songs, depending on the discography she chose. And based on the fleeting look she’d seen her parents give each other when they first piled into the car—a look that had warned: _ Casey’s in a mood _—she had a good feeling about the lack of conversation she would be subjected to.

Up in the front of the car, Elsa reached out and squeezed Doug’s forearm affectionately. Though he was driving, he managed to shoot her a quick, loving smile. 

Casey looked away, feeling childish for being annoyed by their happiness.

The ride was smooth, and probably scenic for anyone that hadn’t lived their entire life in the area. The old streets were lined with small businesses and restaurants, everything built up so long ago that it now looked quaint by default.

Casey had made it through most of the third song in her queue when Elsa turned around to speak to her. 

“So—” Elsa paused, noticing the headphones. She raised her voice just a notch, “So, Izzie didn’t say why she couldn’t come?” 

Casey had heard her perfectly well, even over her music, but still made a show of yanking her headphones out and asking, “What?”

Elsa readjusted the foil-covered casserole on her lap. She’d neglected to grab something to set the dish on when they were leaving the house, and now the underside of the glass was starting to burn her thighs.

With a swiftness Casey could imagine him strapping people onto gurneys with, Doug reached behind Elsa’s seat. 

“Here, baby.” He said, handing her his spare paramedic’s jacket.

“Mind reader.” Elsa giggled, maneuvering the jacket between her jean-clad thighs and the dish. “Thank you, honey.” 

Casey felt another pang of annoyance, followed immediately by another blast of shame.

Elsa turned to her again, “I asked if Izzie said why she couldn’t make it? Did she say anything else?”

“No.” Casey shook her head. 

“Really?” Elsa hummed curiously, righting herself forward. “That’s weird.”

“Not really.” Casey gruffed.

“Well, I just mean she—”

Doug cleared his throat. Whatever his wife had up her sleeve, he wanted her to leave it there. They were less than five minutes from Sam’s place now, and there was no reason to provoke any unnecessary teenage outrage right before they showed up on their son’s doorstep.

Elsa shifted slightly, righting herself forward. “I just would’ve thought she’d be glad for the company with her family out of town.”

Casey squinted. 

_ Do not take the bait. Do not. Let it go. Just let it— _

“She told you that?” Casey all but barked, remembering how nonchalantly Izzie had mentioned something about an uncle in New Jersey.

Elsa’s eyes widened innocently as she turned back around to face her. “Told me what?”

“That her family was out of town.”

“Well, she mentioned it. We didn’t _ talk _about it or anything.” Elsa shrugged. 

Casey was clenching her jaw now, trying to keep her cool.

“I know, I know. You don’t like when we talk.” Elsa held her hands up in defense, “But I only texted her to ask if she thought you would like that salad I made you, which I’m guessing you didn’t,” she laughed lightly, “Because I found most of it still in your lunchbox, all picked through. And no—I was not snooping—I just wanted to soak the tupperware before it stained.”

“Right.” Casey rolled her eyes, caught in the act by her father, who was sending her a silent but stern warning in the rearview mirror.

She put her headphones back in and stared out the window. 

“I don’t care if you guys talk. Or text.” Casey mumbled. “Do whatever you want.”

# ——

Her lips were pursed in strain, unwilling to confess defeat. She didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

Bianca stared at her, grinning knowingly. 

“Okay, “ Izzie confessed, “It’s good.”

“_Good? _” Bianca asked skeptically, using her free hand to navigate out of the cafe’s drive-thru. “Look me in the eye and tell me that it’s not delicious.”

They stopped before an intersection. Bianca scanned left then right, stirring her drink—the exact same drink she’d ordered for Izzie despite her many protests.

“Fine, it’s delicious.” Izzie chuckled. 

She glanced at the drink in her hand. The iced latte, which had cost Bianca a little over nine dollars, was perhaps the most delicious thing Izzie had tasted since amending her diet for track conditioning. It was massive in her hand, golden-brown with an indulgent heap of whipped cream on top. The ice cubes, Bianca had explained to her while they’d been waiting in line for their order, were not ordinary ice cubes but _ vanilla bean infused _ ice cubes. 

There wasn’t a reality, or fantasy for that matter, in which Izzie bought herself nine-dollar coffee. She drank instant coffee, cheap and effective, and took it black most mornings because she was often rushing to get her siblings ready for school. There was no time for cream, sugar, or delectable little vanilla bean infused ice cubes.

“So, wait, you must come here a lot if…” Izzie gestured to their drinks. “You have a regular order or whatever.”

“Yeah.” Bianca shrugged. “All the best food’s on this side of town. Everything by my house is either vegan, or keto, or paleo, or… you get the idea.”

Izzie took another sip of her drink, listening to the ice in Bianca’s cup rattle as she took a long pull from the straw.

“Sometimes I just want a burger and fries.” Bianca nodded at a McDonald’s they were passing. 

Izzie appraised her, surprised. 

Bianca had a clean, almost polished look about her that reminded Izzie vaguely of Paige. She was tall and slender like Penelope, but had the air of an actress or model, not an athlete. She didn’t play any school sports as far as Izzie knew, but according to Penelope, she was a formidable tennis opponent and had been riding horses competitively since they were little girls.

Izzie raised her eyebrows. “I can’t imagine you eating a Big Mac.” 

Laughing, Bianca made a left turn onto the road that would eventually lead them to Izzie’s house. 

“I’m more into Quarter Pounders, but yeah.” 

While they waited at a red light, Izzie checked her phone again. She was unsurprised—but still upset—to find there were no new messages. When she looked up from her phone again, she caught Bianca looking at her. 

“What?” 

There was no edge in her voice, and she found herself oddly hoping Bianca might say whatever it was she was thinking.

Bianca turned back to the road. “Nothing.”

# ——

“So I thought—well why’s it gotta have cranberries if I don’t have cranberries?” Elsa looked around the crowded dining room table, a second-hand slab of mahogany that Sam and Zahid had lugged over from one of Zahid’s cousin’s houses. “I just used raisins instead, and it’s perfect.” Elsa gestured to the casserole dish in the center of the table now. Most of her masterpiece was gone, eaten happily and hungrily, which inspired a swell of pride in her chest as she spoke.

Paige, who Casey had not been briefed was coming, rested her chin in her hand listening intently before perking up to speak. “And a wise choice that was, Mrs. Gardner.” She tilted her head a little, “My nana says raisins are just grapes that lost their way.”

Sam set his water down. “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Sure it does,” Paige gave him a soft nudge, prompting him to make a consternated look. “I don’t mean literally, silly.”

Casey sighed. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and without meaning to—without intending to feel so elated—she reached for it:

_ Storage almost full. _

_ You can manage your storage in Settings. _

Doug swallowed a large mouthful of mashed potatoes and gave a brief look around the apartment. The boys had decorated it well enough, if not a little predictably for two 20-something-year-old men living on their own for the first time. 

There was a broken-in, black leather couch in the living room and a chipped coffee table situated before it. He counted three different Scarface posters in the living room, while a National Geographic one lay flat against the wall that led into the kitchen depicting a drove of marching penguins. The door to Sam’s writing nook was closed, but inside was a carefully positioned chair, desk, and overhead light that he had helped his son install when it became clear that the closet light was too dim for drawing beneath,

“Looks good in here,” Doug mused. His eyes settled on the wide entertainment stand he’d helped the boys cart out of his garage. “You guys really made it your own.”

“Paige helped, too.” Sam noted casually, pointing towards the balcony, where a string of colorful lights had been wound carefully around the bannister. 

Bashful, Paige smoothed her blouse down. “I just helped add a little color.”

“Well it looks great, Sam.” Doug smiled, “Your mom was worried about you here, but I think this’ll be good for you.” He remembered Zahid and corrected himself, “Uh, for both of you."

They continued eating for a moment longer before Zahid looked up from his plate. 

“So where’s Izzie?” He asked simply.

Casey stared at her fork. “Busy.”

Elsa raked her eyes over her daughter, drinking in every miniscule clue the teenager’s slouched body let on.

Zahid pierced a spear of asparagus with his fork, satisfied with the vagueness of Casey’s answer nonetheless. His phone chimed then, and he reached for it excitedly, and only after he’d replied to the mysterious message did he look up to find everyone smiling curiously at him.

“The rumors are true, folks.” He winked, “Yours truly is back on the saddle.”

Elsa covered her mouth to speak, “That’s great, Zahid.”

Doug nodded in agreement, scooping another forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“So,” Paige grinned cheerfully, “What’s she like?” Then, slightly quieter, she mumbled, “Hopefully nothing like _ whatsherface _.”

“Well _ obviously _ she’s a bad bi—” Zahid cleared his throat, remembered his audience. “She’s a very polite young woman. I met her on campus a couple days ago waiting for this one to get out of class.” He gave Sam’s shoulders a friendly shake.

Sam continued to eat through the jostling. “You were not waiting for me, you were just trying to talk to Amber.”

“Wait, who’s Amber?” Elsa dabbed her mouth with one of the floral napkins she’d gifted them. “Is she one of your friends?” She was asking Sam now.

“No,” Sam deadpanned, “Amber’s the girl in my art history class that Zahid says has a huge—”

“Heart!” Zahid blurted, “A huge heart, Mrs. Gardner. She runs the Amnesty International club on campus, so, amnesty for all, am I right?” He looked around the dining table, grinning. 

Elsa nodded, trying to understand.

Beside her, Doug rolled his eyes, making Casey to chuckle.

“That’s very admirable.” Paige was fixing her necklace, shifting it so that the clasp sat at the back of her nape. “I was in Amnesty International in middle school, and let me tell you, it induced _ a lot _of stress.” She sighed fondly. “It was so worth it, though.”

Casey laughed through a bite of casserole, “Yeah, I bet you were a safety patrol, too.”

“Oh, you know it!” Paige held up her fingers. “Two years running.”

“Anyway,” Zahid hunched forward, “Amber’s a thing of the past. Unfortunately for her, and her generously proportioned heart, she has officially missed the yacht. Now I’m sailing into the sunset with someone else.” 

Elsa grinned, sipping her wine. “Does this someone have a name?”

“Addison.” Zahid paused for effect. “So, it’s like Maddison. But cooler.”

Casey made a face. “Her name is _Addison_?”

Paige gasped. “Like Addison Montgomery!” 

Zahid nodded, impressed. “Exactly!”

“Who?” Elsa asked, looking around.

“She’s this gorgeous but totally misunderstood character from Grey’s Anatomy—well, like 10 seasons ago, now she’s got her own spinoff—but anyway, she was married to Derek Shepherd until she cheated on him with his best friend, Mark Sloan, but all of that happened before Derek met Meredith, who he really loves, except Meredith didn’t know that Derek was married _ until _Addison showed up and blew the whole thing wide open.” Paige shook her head, scandalized. “It was quite the emotional roller coaster. But now Derek’s dead, and the show just isn’t—”

Zahid pointed his fork at her. “Mark’s dead, too.”

Paige paused, thinking. “Oh my gosh, the plane crash. How could I forget?” 

“Plane crash?” Doug squinted. “What?”

“And Lexie,” Paige covered her heart.

“And George.” Zahid shook his head somberly, “Oooh, and Denny.”

“Oh, do not!” Paige held her hand up, “Do not get me started about Denny Duquette.”

Zahid looked to Doug who was sufficiently confused. “We lost a lot of good men, Mr. G.” 

Doug nodded awkwardly, “Well, uh, I hope it works out with you and your friend.” 

Before Zahid could respond, his phone chimed again. This time, he nearly knocked his drink over trying to get to it. 

# ——

“Oh, ah!” She fanned at the food in her open mouth, “Ah!”

Izzie let the ball of steaming, half-chewed chicken tender fall gracelessly from her mouth. The mash tumbled onto her plate with a wet thwap. 

_ Gross. _

On the tv before her, a cartoon dog was playing the viola.

Izzie hadn’t been paying much attention to the program, mostly just turned it on to make the house a little less quiet. The kids loved cartoons, and for a while Izzie had loved watching alongside them. But she could only sit through so many episodes until the constant ensemble of talking cats, fish, ponies, fairies, and dogs—why were there so many talking dogs?—became too much and she resigned herself to browsing social media while her siblings looked on mesmerized

Now she was almost missing the way one of her brothers was always yelling for her to look at something, or hearing her little sister gasp whenever something moderately unfortunate happened to a talking robot. It was…. weird, not having to squeeze herself into a spot on the usually crowded couch, and even weirder how she was able to stretch out now without someone’s foot or elbow being thrust in her face. 

There had been no chorus of childish laughter or petty bickering yesterday, either—but yesterday she and Casey had been good. Yesterday, Izzie hadn’t needed a distraction from her thoughts. 

She stared down at the chicken tenders. Definitely not a Crowley-approved meal, but she’d been in no mood to fuss with the salmon in the freezer or the bag of green beans that would need trimmed, steamed, and drenched in lemon juice to taste like anything at all. 

Not that the chicken was exactly flavor-packed, either. In fact, she was pretty sure they were frost-bitten. 

_ Whatever. _

Too hungry to care, Izzie took another bite of the rubbery chicken. 

The cartoon dog had stopped playing his instrument and was now stretching his mustard yellow body around the spire of a castle.

Izzie smiled sadly. 

She checked the time on her phone: 6:38PM.

The Gardners, she knew, would have finished eating dinner by now, but might still be at Sam’s place just chatting or playing some sort of convoluted board game that Paige had brought over.

Izzie batted away a flutter in her chest, imagining the scene: Sam winning by a landslide, Elsa and Doug making googly eyes at each other completely uninterested in the game, Zahid critiquing the board game pieces in realtime on Twitter, and Paige—hopelessly wounded by Zahid’s announcement that his followers agreed: a boot was a stupid board game piece—making a passionate case for the game’s “classic” craftsmanship. 

And Casey? Well... Casey would be sitting right next to her, their knees brushing, their fingers loosely interlinked, rolling her eyes and totally fed up with the whole damn thing, but still happy to have her there. 

Except she wasn’t there. 

Sighing, Izzie knocked one of the couch pillows to the floor with her foot. 

A snake-like unicorn had joined the cartoon dog now,. The rainbow creature squealed as she gave the dog a peck on the cheek. 

# ——

She idled in the shower, allowing the scalding water to spray down her back, butt, thighs, and calves. 

By the time she relented and turned the temperature down, most of her skin had already turned pink. She washed her face with a fragrant scrub—something Elsa picked up for her after she saw it on TV—then stood directly under the nozzle, eyes closed, to let the water rinse the exfoliant from her face. When she opened her eyes again, it was to stare down at her feet, watching as puddles pooled around her toes and in between her arches. 

Eventually, she stood back to unblock the drain, allowing the water to glug noisily. 

Casey’s speaker sat on the ledge of the bathroom sink, it’s little blue light blinking as one song finished and another began: 

_ I don’t wanna take from you _

_ I don’t need an I.O.U. _

_ Keep your pockets super_ _— _

Skip. 

When Casey leaned back into the shower, her skin erected goosebumps where the cool air from outside had grazed it. She closed her eyes under the water again and immediately saw Izzie. 

Her girlfriend was standing before her, looking like she was about to cry, the same way she had right before they had their first kiss. That same hurt, frustrated look about her. Only this time Casey hadn’t saved her from those emotions by cradling her face and pressing their lips together. 

This time she had said _ fuck you. _And she’d meant it.

Casey dried herself in front of the foggy mirror, unable to see how drained she looked. She could feel it, though, the fatigue from practice and the demands of her day weighing on her, slowing her steps until she was no longer walking, but shuffling, to the edge of her bed. 

She fell forward onto the mattress, landing face-first just short of her pillow. 

She lay still for a moment, perfectly unmoving even though it was hard to breathe with her nose smashed against the bed like that. Against her better judgement, she reached under the pillow to retrieve her phone. 

Hiding her phone had become a necessary precaution ever since she’d emerged from the shower one night to find Elsa sitting on the edge of her bed pretending not to be snooping through her texts. (Fortunately, there’d been nothing too lewd in her inbox on that particular occasion.)

No texts from Izzie.

No missed calls from Izzie.

Nothing from Izzie. 

_ Whatever. _

Casey jammed the phone back under her pillow.

She army crawled her way to the top of her bed and threw the covers back, climbing inside. Only then did she realize that she’d left the bathroom light on. And it seemed so far away. A full six feet away. 

She turned her head towards the wall she used to share with Sam before he moved out. 

If he’d still been living there, Casey would have screamed his name, repeatedly, from the top of her lungs like there was an emergency, then acted surprised to see him when he finally burst through her bedroom door demanding to know what the hell was going on. She smiled, envisioning the scene:

_ “Oh, Sam, what’re you doing here?” She would have asked, biting back her smile. _

_ And his brow would have wrinkled, of course, because it was always wrinkling like that. “You were screaming my name. I heard you through the wall.” _

_ She would look around, confused, eyes wide. “I was?” _

_ “Yes, you were. Now what do you want?” He would quip back, giving her that stern, impatient look she’d actually started to miss. _

_ Then, and probably pointing to the bathroom with her foot, she would shrug and say: “Well, since you’re here… could you turn that light off for me?” _

A light knock at the door drew Casey from her thoughts. She would have known that cheerful wrapping anywhere: Elsa come to bother her.

“I’m sleeping,” Casey groaned. 

A brief pause, before Elsa called back in one of her sing-songy voices. “I have something for you!”

Casey lay there silent.

“Case?”

She sighed. “Yeah, come in.”

The door crept open, making way for just Elsa’s head at first as she took a cautious look around the room. She assessed Casey’s space for signs of disaster: the sound of angsty music, the sight of an angsty tv show, or even the appearance of an angsty book cracked open on her lap if her daughter was _ really _going through something trying. 

Casey sat up, a sudden softness overriding her annoyance when she saw the peace offering in Elsa’s hands.

“Mom…” She bit her lip, willing it not to tremble. 

Elsa lifted the small bowl of ice cream a touch higher, a comforting smile on her lips. 

“You know I can’t.” Casey started weakly, but Elsa was already making her way to the edge of the bed.

“Well how about…” She set the bowl down gingerly beside her. It was mint chocolate chip, Casey’s favorite. Elsa wiggled her eyebrows, handing her a spoon. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” 

Then it happened. Like a bike chain popping off its sprocket, or a picture-day comb snapping in half. All the hairline cracks in Casey’s dam gave way, and she started to cry. Her lips wrenched into an ugly grimace and the tears sprang freely. 

And just like that, Elsa was reaching for her, wrapping her arms around Casey’s worn out body totally and protectively.

# ——

Izzie had finished her homework. 

And eaten her dinner.

And tidied the house for everyone coming home tomorrow.

And also reorganized her laughably tiny closet—first by color, then by the frequency of which she wore all things that were not her Clayton uniform. 

Still, she wasn’t tired. 

Not the way she needed to be, anyway. Certainly not the way she usually was by this time of night, having made dinner for a small army of her siblings, and then helped Luis and Ethan with their homework, and then put Carla to sleep in her crib, and then given Maya a bath, and then finally put everyone to bed with a bedtime story.

_ That latte was a terrible idea. _

Really, Izzie should have been thankful for the break from a slew of responsibilities that weren’t hers to begin with, but all she actually was right now was restless. Her body wasn’t accustomed to breaks, had conditioned itself to store up bits and pieces of energy throughout her busy day so that she still had the power to care for others by the time she got home. 

And that is how she came to be sweating her ass off in the middle of the living room, using an old towel for an exercise mat as she did a particularly challenging home workout video at 9:00PM.

Was that the best use of her time? Probably not. But neither was the alternative, i.e., using all of her residual energy to think about Casey, obsessing over their courtyard showdown and wondering if she had overreacted, wondering why she suddenly felt so much guilt in addition to all of her anger, wondering when Casey would finally reach out, or if Casey might never reach out and their fight was destined to drag on forever because both of them felt so fucking entitled to an apology. 

“We’re holding! Holding!” Ripped Ricky, the sprightly instructor that Izzie had settled on after almost no research into his love of body-weight exercises, was lying prostrate in a stiff plank on her tv screen. 

“Holding, still holding, only 10 more seconds.” 

Izzie’s arms trembled beneath her as she maintained the pose. 

“Keep that back straight, keep that core tight. We want all those good muscles engaged. Five more seconds, here we go.”

Five. 

_ She should just text Casey. _

Four.

_ No. Fuck that. No. _

Three.

_ If Casey wanted to talk, then Casey could text her. _

Two.

_ What did she have to be sorry for, anyway? _

One.

_ Lying. She had lied. To her girlfriend. _

“Down.” 

Izzie flopped onto her stomach as Ripped Ricky sat back on his heels, taking a deep breath more for show than out of any actual sense of exertion. 

“Great job! Now we’re gonna finish up with a personal favorite of mine.”

Izzie’s eyes were cast up at the television, terrified of what fresh hell Ricky’s favorite might look like.

The instructor shot up quickly, shaking out his chiseled legs. “Everybody up, let’s go.”

Groaning, she rose to her feet, ignoring the fresh soreness in her core.

“You already know what time it is!” He clapped his hands, prompting a small stopwatch in the corner of the screen to count backwards from 60. “Let’s hit those burpees!”

# ——

_ Casey sat at the dining room table, unable to move, unable to turn her head even as she heard the clanging of pots and pans behind her. Someone’s feet were shuffling closer._

_ “Here,” Paige stood beside her, holding what appeared to be a small tupperware container. “Nana says nothing gets her goose like someone sending their guests home empty-handed.” _

_ As Casey accepted the tupperware, she found herself suddenly standing before an open door. The container grew hotter and hotter in her hands until she dropped it, and just as she leaned down to pick it up, she heard someone calling her name. _

_ On the opposite side of the open door stretched a grassy field lined with chalk-white paint. A football field, she realized. _

_ “Casey Gardner?” The voice boomed again, questioning. _

_ Casey squinted. On the other side of the playing field was Principal Chiet. She was done up, wearing a dark dress and reading glasses, standing before a podium and speaking into a microphone. _

_ “Gianna Garibaldi.” The principal called. _

_ That’s when Casey noticed the stage, the folding chairs, the droves of students seated before Mrs. Chiet. Everyone clad in Clayton’s navy blue cap and gowns. _

_ An unseen audience clapped as someone—Gianna, presumably—ascended the stage. _

_ “Matthew Garretson.” Chiet continued over the clapping. _

_ Matthew, who went by Matt and sat behind Casey in calculus, crossed the stage. _

_ Chiet paused, smiling. “Marlena Givens.” _

_ More clapping, and then Marlena, who Casey recognized from Beta Club, crossed the stage. _

_ Then it clicked. _

_ Suddenly, Casey was sprinting full charge, her legs carrying her towards the stage. Only, when she looked down, she saw that she was barely moving. And the stage, the stage was receding now. _

_ “Wait!” Casey yelled, “Wait, I’m here!” _

_ The stage, and the students huddled before it, faded away. _

_ “Andre Glass.” Principal Chiet’s voice was faint. _

_ Casey could see Andre, almost a blip now, do a giddy dance across the stage before landing a backflip. Laughter and cheers from the hidden crowd rang out. _

_ “Talia Glickman.”_

_ Casey drove her legs forward in vain. _

_ “Audrianna Goddard.” _

_ The stage had nearly vanished in the distance. _

_ “Joseph Gonzalez.” _

_ A scream reared up in her throat, caught there like she might choke on it if she didn’t let it out. _

_ “I’m here.” Casey’s voice cracked, another scream welling up. “Hey! I said, I’m—” _

Casey jolted awake. Her room was pitch black, and her face was wet. 

She blinked a few times, trying to orient herself, delighting in the wave of relief that seized her when she realized where she was. After a few deep breaths, she reached for her phone, wincing into the white light it cast down on her. 

It was 1:24AM and she had two missed texts. 

_ Sam: Paige says you have to tell people thank you after they come to your house for dinner. _

_ Sam: Thank you. _

# ——

Izzie lay in bed with her hands behind her head, trying to coax herself into sleep. 

Her grandmother, who only ever went by Nona, had taught her a trick for sleepless nights when she was little—something about pretending your body was like sand—only, Izzie had never quite remembered the trick correctly. For one reason or another, she'd always been too afraid to close her eyes and pretend that her body was anything other than a body. 

She rolled onto her side, letting her gaze sweep over the dark bedroom. She could make out the silhouette of Carla’s crib a couple feet away, and almost instantly she was battling the urge to pad over to it and check on her. 

On certain sleepless nights, Izzie would peer down into the crib and find the baby awake too, just lying there cooing softly. They’d look at each other for a moment before Izzie reached into the crib and rocked Carla’s little body against her chest until the baby eventually fell asleep. 

Other times, if Izzie woke to find Carla snoozing peacefully, she would creep down the hallway and peer into the bedroom that Luis, Ethan, and Maya shared. She’d watch over them for a moment, trying not to laugh at the boys splayed out in their bunk beds or the sound of Maya’s ridiculously loud snoring coming from her twin bed across the room. 

Izzie rubbed her eyes. No need for any of that tonight. Carla was at her dad’s house on the other side of the city, and the others were asleep in New Jersey, probably gorged on cake and attention from their distant relatives.

_ What had Nona said to do? Was it: pretend your body is filled with sand? Would Nona have given a little girl such terrifying advice? _

Izzie rolled onto her other side, facing the wall. She didn’t like having her back to the door, even knowing the house was locked and empty. 

Sighing, she rolled back over. She was already regretting how exhausted she was going to feel in the morning, and dreading how red her eyes sometimes looked when she didn’t get enough sleep, like she was one of those kids that got stoned in the parking lot right before school started. 

She reached for her phone on the nightstand, making a frustrated noise when her charger snagged. Giving it a soft tug, she felt the cord give in her hands and knew she’d pulled the block right out of the wall.

She unlocked her phone and discovered two things.

  1. It was nearly 1:30AM. So she would not only be dog-tired in the morning, she would also look high as fuck.
  2. Apparently it didn’t matter if her phone was charged or not, because nobody had tried to reach her in the last several hours anyway. 

Her last text was from her aunt, confirming that they’d be coming home late tomorrow afternoon.

No messages from Casey.

No calls from Casey.

No apology from Casey. 

Content to torture herself, Izzie opened their message thread. Her and Casey’s last text exchange dated back to yesterday morning, when they’d had a brief conversation about Elsa's penchant for burning toast. 

Izzie set her phone back down on the nightstand, too defeated to bother plugging her charger back in.

_ Had Nona said to pretend her body was sinking in sand? Was quicksand supposed to put her to sleep? Was that supposed to be relaxing? _

Her hand lay flat on her bare stomach, creeping towards the waistband of her underwear. 

_ There was another way... _

_ She was too mad for that, though. Wasn't she? _

# ——

She found her way from the bathroom back to her bed easily, even in the dark. 

Casey had only had to stub her toe on the bed rails for six or seven years before she learned exactly where everything in her bedroom was laid out, down to the inch. 

She climbed back into the bed and drew the covers up to her chest. Settled, and almost fully recovered from her nightmare, she reached for her phone. It was instinct. Desperate and unavoidable. 

Shockingly, Izzie had not come to her senses and apologized in the four minutes since Casey had startled awake and then convinced herself to get up and pee before trying to fall back asleep. 

Casey reread their back-and-forth about Elsa’s toast. Izzie had sent her a meme of a little girl smiling deviously at the camera as a house burned to the ground just behind her with the caption, “lol elsa making your toast in the morning.”

A sad smile crept across her face. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. 

Elsa mom had let her cry earlier, let her snot all over that brand new sweater with no complaints as Casey relayed the full story. Her mom had listened quietly for a change, too. Just nodded and stroked her back until she was done crying and blubbering.

And when Casey finally had looked to Elsa for her input, her mother had given her one of those small, sympathetic smiles before starting in on a surprisingly useful talk about how it was possible for two people to interpret a situation completely differently and both be right. 

Casey stared at the bright phone screen, then busied her fingers.

<strike> _ Are you u _ </strike>

<strike> _ Can we ta _ </strike>

<strike> _ I’m sorry fo _ </strike>

<strike> _ I’m sorry abou _ </strike>

She took a deep breath, trying to nail down a coherent thought. 

Finally, she typed out: _ I’m really sorry. _

She studied the message for a second, her thumb lingering over the Send button. 

It was just after 1:30AM, and she knew Izzie had probably gone to bed hours ago. 

Sighing, she erased the message for good, then slid her phone back under her pillow.

Prideful—or maybe just downright childish, she couldn't be sure anymore—Casey closed her eyes, hellbent on making it to morning without being the first to cave.

# ——

Izzie whimpered into the black. 

Instinctively, her eyes shot open, worried she might wake the baby, but her panic quickly dissipated as she remembered that she was alone. 

She hadn't bothered to take her underwear off, because that would have been too involved. She wanted this to be in and out, same as any other night. Merely a means of getting to sleep. 

No need for theatrics. No need to draw it out.

Her fingers slid over her clit, grazing it lightly. 

“Mm.” She moaned quietly.

She started to work herself faster. With short, impatient strokes. 

Her comforter lay kicked at the foot of the bed, and the shirt she was wearing had ridden up to her chest, pushed there as she tried to cool herself down. But she was getting hot again, could feel the warmth pooling in her stomach and the blush stretching across her cheeks.

Izzie let her head loll to one side. 

She was wet, and feeling desperate for it. She wanted to come. She wanted to go to sleep. She wanted to make herself feel good before she had to feel bad again.

One long, lazy stroke and her fingertip slipped just inside.

_ Tonight was not that kind of party. _

She repositioned her fingers, feeling her stomach tighten as she started to recover her rhythm. 

And then she was moaning again, but also trying to keep quiet. She almost laughed when, mid-moan, she tried to cut her voice off. Tried to snuff out the pleasure that was pulsing through her before it could reach her mouth, if only to keep an empty home sounding empty.

Izzie stared at her ceiling. She had stopped. Stilled the hand between her legs and was holding steady, appreciating the slick coat on her fingers. 

This wasn’t the way. She couldn’t clear her mind for long enough to make it happen… not on her back.

She turned onto her stomach, smoothing some of the hair out of her face with her free hand. She began grinding against her fingers. 

Slowly, at first. 

Very, very slowly.

But then her mind drifted to Casey and her pace quickened. She spread her fingers to slacken the pressure on her clit and groaned. 

_ Not her. Not now. _

She tried to think of someone else, anyone else. A stranger would have sufficed.

Her mind rummaged through available faces: the girl with highlights in her Spanish class, the furious crossing guard, Aisling, Rose Ross Doherty of the Rose Ross Doherty scholarship foundation, Crowley, the guy that lived down the hall in 107, Penelope, Nate. 

Grimacing, Izzie opened her eyes.

_ What the fuck? _

_ What the actual fuck? _

Undeterred, she closed her eyes again. She circled her clit slowly, trying not to lose any of the momentum she’d built up. 

She bit her lip. She concentrated.

She could hear her ragged breathing, feel how her chest rose and fell against the arm tucked between her body and the mattress. 

Bit by bit, she slipped, intuiting the onset of her orgasm as it took root in her lower belly. 

All the anger, and stubbornness, and guilt, and logic started to slip away. 

Izzie bucked against her hand. 

Bit by bit, she slipped, allowing thoughts of Casey to cross her borderlands:

_ Casey, with her lips red and swollen from kissing, and her eyelids heavy as they pulled apart. _

_ Casey, opening her mouth and slipping her tongue inside. _

Izzie couldn’t resist. She was too far gone, too close. 

“Oh,” she moaned, “Oh.”

_ Casey, on her back, with Izzie's hands wrapped firmly around her wrists, holding them there as she straddled her. _

_ Casey, on top of her, kissing her neck and making her weak. _

“Fuck.” Izzie panted.

_ Casey, with her long legs spread wide, and Izzie crawling between them, ready to taste her. _

_ Casey, sliding her fingers deep inside, making Izzie moan, making her come. _

"Oh, f—" her breath caught in her throat.

_ Casey. Casey. Casey. _

With flushed cheeks and ruined underwear, Izzie came. Thinking of nothing but Casey Gardner. 

Finally, her limbs relaxed and her eyelids yielded to gravity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No mint ice cream slander will be tolerated.


	9. Unstated Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey and Izzie make up, but not without a little help from some outside perspective.

Casey watched the swarm of people thin. 

What’d once been a sea of students bustling beyond the cafeteria doors was now a quiet stream, and a minute later, a pathetic trickle.

She stretched her neck to look down the hallway, dumbfounded when the late bell rang—still no sign of Izzie.

Casey had woken up this morning feeling off, and known, immediately, that it had everything to do with their fight. The resolve she’d fallen asleep with—the will not to cave—had melted now, pooled in a murky puddle around her feet that she didn’t want to splash around in anymore. 

All she wanted to do was apologize—but she couldn’t do that if she couldn’t find Izzie.

She’d waited up for her after their last three periods, holding out awkwardly in their usual meeting spots for so long that she was late to most of her own classes. Now she was patrolling the perimeter of the cafeteria like a crazy person, knowing Izzie would have to show up sooner or later.

Casey only seemed to be getting more desperate as the day went on, and she was starting to think that she had vastly underestimated the seriousness of the situation.

  
  


As she approached the lunch table, all three heads—Penelope’s, Quinn’s, and Bianca’s—snapped up.

“Where’s Izzie?” Penelope asked, looking behind her.

“Uh,” Casey sat down, scooting forward in her chair until she could rest her elbows on the table, “Nice to see you too, Penelope.”

“Hi, Casey.” Penelope tilted her head, drawing out the greeting for effect. “So? She’s not sick, is she?” She cracked open a pistachio between her painted nails. “She better not be sick.”

Casey knew Penelope didn’t actually care if Izzie was sick or not, so she said nothing. Rather, she concentrated on keeping her facial expression neutral, knowing the more uncomfortable she looked, the more Penelope would pry. 

Quinn shook her head, speaking around a mouthful of banana, “She was fine in stat.”

Casey’s stomach sank. 

So Izzie _ was _ at school today... which meant she absolutely _ was _avoiding her. 

With almost no time to process that information, everyone was looking at her again. Waiting. 

“Don’t look at me, guys.” She tried to laugh it off, but the chuckle that fell from her mouth sounded forced even to her. “We don’t keep tabs on each other like that.”

Her friends weren’t satisfied with that answer, but she dug her heels in and resisted the urge to lie, or overexplain, or, worse—overexplain a lie until it became painfully clear that she was lying. 

Casey opened her lunchbox, letting the finality of her explanation—or lack thereof—sink in.

Quinn sprang into action, happy to hijack the conversation and redirect the table’s attention to more pressing matters, like the fact that Austin Houser and his girlfriend had finally broken up. 

“Him and Emily are always breaking up.” Penelope split open another pistachio. “Then guys start swarming her, he freaks out, and they get back together.”

“No, seriously.” Quinn was talking with her hands, leaning forward. “This time’s for real. He said they’re just different people now.”

“No shit.” Penelope cackled. “They’ve been going out since third grade.”

At that, Bianca pulled a face.

“What?” Quinn asked, clearly invested in her take on the situation. “What’s that look for?”

Bianca stirred the fruit in her yogurt. “You’re telling me this Emily girl’s been with the same guy since she was nine years old?”

Penelope nodded, cackling again. 

Quinn tilted her head, “Well, kind of, last summer she almost...”

Casey could hear Quinn droning on and on about Emily, how just last summer Austin had dumped her; how Austin had, a mere few days later, run into Emily on a date with some other guy and promptly lost his shit; how now Austin had sworn to Quinn that he and Emily were really done this time; how Quinn was planning to finally make her move on Austin at Penelope’s party next weekend. 

She listened, the words sensical but static. She was too unfocused to join the conversation, too stuck on Izzie and wondering where the hell she might be hiding out right now.

Casey couldn't pinpoint when, exactly, but she knew now that their situation had spiraled out of control. They were past a few late-night texts to test the waters and see how committed the other was to their half of the silent treatment. This wasn't a little fight anymore. 

Despondent, she let her eyes drift to the frosted window on the near side of the cafeteria and zoned out. 

Penelope, Quinn, and Bianca continued to gab, weighing Austin’s pros and cons as a boyfriend, then as an athlete, then as a guy with a Jeep. Every now and then, they invoked Casey, drawing her out of her catatonic brooding for backup on some opinion or another; she would nod, or shake her head, or fake a laugh. 

Then something surprising happened. 

She was still locked on to the double-doors across the dining hall, willing Izzie to walk through them, to sit down next to her and laugh, to touch her arm and give her a look that said: _ I’m sorry, I don’t want to fight _, when everything stopped. 

It was as if someone had flipped a switch in a dark room and thrown everything into light. 

Suddenly, Casey was enraged.

Where did Izzie get off dodging her after they had _ both _ screwed up? Where did Izzie get off doing _ the exact same thing _ she had once accused Casey of: running and hiding? Where did Izzie get off just _ disappearing _like this?

Casey was still partly lost in her heated thoughts when she tuned back in.

“...at my last party, so I’m locking everything on the second and third floor this time.” Bianca pointed her spoon at Quinn. 

“Bianca!” Quinn whined, turning to Penelope for help. “Tell her! I’m not gonna trash anything, I promise.”

“God, just give her a key to one of the guest rooms, or something.” Penelope flicked a shell at Bianca, and smirked. “Don’t be a cockblock.”

“Casey?” Quinn was staring at her. “You okay?”

# ——

They had both packed trail mix, which served as a nice icebreaker for what Izzie had guessed—incorrectly—would be the most awkward eating experience of her life. 

“My dad makes his own,” Aisling smiled, opening a small baggie. “Puts all sorts of stuff in it. Curry powder, cocoa beans, goji berries.”

Izzie laughed. “If I made my own, it would just be, like, 70% eminems. And no raisins.”

“Oh, I love the raisins.” Aisling answered guiltily. “It’s the pretzels that kill me. They’re so dry.” 

“What?” Izzie said back, pleased to be enjoying the conversation, “Pretzels are the perfect snack, they go with anything: peanut butter, humms, mustard.”

Aisling shook her head in protest, holding up her finger to finish chewing. She covered her mouth to speak, “If you’ve got to drown out the pretzel taste with all that other stuff, then what’s the point?”

Izzie ceded with a chuckle, twirling a skinny pretzel stick between two fingers. 

They munched peacefully for a while with their identical paper bags crumpled up next to them; Aisling nibbling selectively over her steel desk, and Izzie peeling a tangerine at the wooden one she sat in every day.

“Alright, so.” Aisling dusted her hands over the trash can beside her desk. “Let’s start with the basics. It might be putting the cart before the horse to try and help you with your application when I’m not even sure where it is you want to go. So, tell me, where do you see yourself next year, Izzie?”

She toyed nervously with the tangerine’s pith, loosening it from the core. “UCLA?”

Aisling smiled warmly. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“Telling.” Izzie wrinkled her brow. “There’s this scout that’s been coming to all our meets, you know, for track.”

Aisling tossed two small, latticed pretzels into the trash. “So you’re gunning for an athletic scholarship?”

“Yeah, I mean, I want an academic scholarship, too, but UCLA’s where I wanna be.”

“I see.” Aisling nodded.

As Izzie started to evenly part her tangerine, separating the bright slices and bruised rind on separate ends of her napkin, a strong citrus scent filled the classroom.

Aisling was staring at her when she looked up again.

“Okay. What other schools are you thinking about?”

“Um…” Izzie wracked her brain.

She had already received interest from a few DI schools, but none churned her excitement like UCLA; and those smaller, lesser known DII schools that had been trying to entice her with their full rides might as well have been located in Antarctica she was so uninterested. 

Izzie shifted at her desk. Aisling’s gaze had become something of a heat lamp, and every silent second she sat under it, the less coherent Izzie became. 

“UCLA is your first and only choice?” Aisling studied her carefully.

“Yeah.” She nodded dumbly, “Well, for now, anyway.”

“UCLA’s a good school.” Aisling plucked a raisin from her bag and pinched it. “Not as good as my alma mater, though.” She winked playfully. 

“Where’d you go?” Izzie asked with genuine curiosity, tossing a pulpy slice into her mouth.

Aisling opened the bottom drawer of her desk, rifling around for something. 

The teacher’s forearm had almost fully disappeared into the drawer by the time she located the mystery item. She dislodged her arm, withdrawing with it what appeared to be a picture frame of some sort. 

Izzie cautiously accepted the frame, turning it over in her hands. 

Encased in the polished glass was a baccalaureate degree in Economics from Stanford University, awarded _ summa cum laude _ to one Sofia Elizabeth Aisling. Izzie looked up, confused.

Without glancing up from the homemade sandwich she was unsheathing, Aisling clarified, “I used to hang it in my office back when I taught at Berkeley, but it feels a little misplaced here.” 

“Wait. You went to Stanford?” Izzie shook her head, “_The _ Stanford?” 

Aisling nodded proudly. “Harvard of the west.” 

Izzie marveled. She knew it would have been rude, and nosey, to ask the questions running through her mind: _ what are you doing here? how’d you end up teaching at this high school? are you being held hostage, or are you just crazy? _

Instead, Izzie settled for something simpler. “That’s insane.”

Aisling nodded, half-chuckling, half-bisecting an extra long piece of lettuce with her teeth and fingers.

“Oh, it was nothing short of insane.” Aisling went on. “I went to Berkeley for my doctorate afterwards, but I’ve always been a lot more proud of _ that _ degree.” 

“Why?” Izzie asked, genuinely curious, still studying the fine text.

“Well, for starters, it was a lot harder to get, if you can believe that.” Aisling sucked a drop of mustard from her thumb. “I got in off the waitlist, but I didn’t even care.” She smiled fondly, reminiscing. “My econ teacher, Mr. Jackson, he’s the one who told me to apply. I told him he was crazy—I couldn’t even afford the application fee for Stanford, let alone the tuition. My family didn’t have money like that.”

That piqued Izzie’s attention. 

“He helped me get a fee waiver and apply to a few scholarships, though. One of which, you might have guessed, was the Doherty Foundation Fellowship.”

Izzie did, in fact, already know that. During a particularly rabbit-hole-filled study hall period, she had discovered Dr. Aisling’s name on a list of former scholarship recipients, and gone digging so far as to uncover an aged photograph of the teacher—just an awkward looking, pigeon-toed high schooler then—at some sort of fancy reception dinner. 

Nevertheless, Izzie feigned surprise. 

“That’s amazing.” She paused, focused entirely on the ornate print of a text that read: _ Stanford, California. _She looked back up at Aisling, weirdly comforted by how uninhibitedly she was wolfing down her sandwich. “You weren’t afraid to leave your family?”

“Oh, I hardly flew the coop.” Aisling chortled. “I’m not from here. My parents live in Oakland. They’ve been there since _ before _ all the gentrification. Back then, it wasn’t the kind of place people settled down in if they didn’t have to, you know what I mean?”

With more seriousness than she’d intended, Izzie answered, “I do.”

She handed Aisling’s degree back to her, careful not to smudge the glass with her fingerprints.

“Anyway,” Aisling took a long, sullen look at the degree before stowing it back in her drawer. “Once I graduated from Stanford, I didn’t really know what to do next. But I had a game theory professor who’d just been poached by Berkley, and he suggested I apply to their graduate program.”

Aisling’s laugh was feminine and airy as she went on. “The last thing I wanted was to be even closer to my parents—Berkeley was basically in their backyard—but I went anyway.” She smiled at Izzie in a way that made her look younger, more relatable to the seventeen-year-old sitting across from her. “The point I’m trying to make is that I was dealing with a lot of uncertainty around that time, too. Fortunately, I had mentors around to guide me whenever I veered off track. Not that you’re veering, per se, you just remind me of—” 

A male teacher with trendy clubmaster glasses poked his head into the classroom then. “Don’t think I didn’t see your—Oh!” He regarded Izzie with a polite but surprised smile, “Sorry, Sofia, I didn’t know you were… Uh, I’ll come back later.”

“Sounds good,” Aisling gave him a thumbs up, a different kind of light catching in her eyes when the teacher smiled again before excusing himself. 

Izzie threw out her napkin, pretending not to have interrupted their moment.

Aisling was perceptive, though. She cleared her throat suddenly. 

“Mr. Altierre and I have been collaborating on a small project.”

“Cool,” Izzie answered, stifling a smile. 

# ——

Each leisure step she took caused her gym bag to bob against her hip.

With lunch (and the excruciating hiccup of having to admit that she had _ no fucking idea _ where her girlfriend was) behind her, Casey had mentally prepared herself as best as possible for practice with Izzie, and she had calmed her mind and steadied her hands by the time she finally reached the private locker room, the one reserved for in-season athletes only.

Just as she reached for the door, it started to open, causing her to step back.

Violet Petras-Hyde, and a fraction of her posse, stepped out wearing sweatpants and fleece, Clayton Prep pullovers.

“Oh, hey, Casey!” Violet preened, stepping past her. “Day two, wish us luck!”

Casey tried not to roll her eyes. “Good luck.” 

She turned back to the door, reaching again.

“Hey!” A voice called from behind.

Annoyed, Casey spun around, surprised to see… damned if she didn’t forget her name, the transfer student that had asked her for directions yesterday.

As the girl got closer, she started to laugh. “Damn, you look like someone gave you bad directions, too.”

Casey laughed. “No, I’m in the right place.”

“Suuuure,” the girl answered sarcastically, lifting her chin in a way that revealed the glint of her flipped-up nose ring. 

“What are you even doing here?” Casey gestured around the gym, still trying to remember the girl's name. She knew it began with a J… or a G… possibly a V. “Shouldn’t you be, like, halfway across town looking for the cafeteria or something?”

The girl stood back and clasped her hands. “Oh, she’s got jokes?”

Casey shrugged, grinning.

“I’m killing time before practice.” She pointed across the gym, past the basketball courts, with her thumb. “Volleyball. Then I saw you and wanted to thank you for yesterday.” 

"Oh." Casey nodded. “Yeah, no problem.” 

“And you were right, turns out everyone here _ does _just cut through the courtyard, even though there are roughly ten signs that say—”

“Please stay off grass,” Casey finished for her.

They nodded together, slightly startled when the door to the locker room opened again and two girls from the golf team stepped out, donning navy skorts and thermal tights. They nodded as they passed by. 

Casey wracked her brain for the girl’s name, replaying their last encounter. She must have been straining, because the girl started to laugh. 

“Janessa.” She curled her hand towards herself. 

Casey nodded, embarrassed. “I remember.” 

Again, Janessa responded with a sarcastic, “Suuuure.”

“Sorry,” Casey looked between Janessa and the door, “I can’t be late for practice, my coach is kinda—”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to hold you up.” Janessa interrupted, standing back and gesturing to the door. “Just wanted to say thanks for, I don’t know, being nice.”

Casey smiled. “You’re welcome.” 

She reached for the door then, turning back to make one last joke, but found Janessa had already started to walk away.   
  


Casey wouldn’t be scoring any points for maturity, but after ignoring Izzie all practice, at least she felt like she’d made her point. 

For two hours, she’d kept her mouth shut and the eye contact to a minimum, even though Izzie was wearing that clingy long sleeve she loved and Crowley had them doing high-five planks which meant that her and Izzie's faces were so close they could have kissed if they lost balance.

It hadn’t been easy, and _ proud _ wasn’t the word she would’ve used to describe how she was feeling right now, but it _ had _ been satisfying to see that pure, shocked annoyance on Izzie’s face when she realized that Casey was ignoring her too.

Shivering, Casey cut the heat on. She was still parked outside the stadium, sticky with sweat.

She sniffed and made a face; there was a slight mildew smell filtering through the plastic slats. She made a mental note to bring it up when she got home despite the lecture that would ensue; her dad was convinced that her recent ownership of the vehicle was to blame for its falling apart, and not the fact that he’d bought it back when she was still in pull-ups. 

Casey rubbed the heel of her palms into her eyes until she saw spots, debating which playlist to put on for the drive home. 

As she reached for the volume dial, her phone vibrated against the gear shift. The abrupt buzz made her jump.

_ Sharice: can you talk? _

Another vibration, followed by another text.

_ Sharice: BIG NEWS _

Casey palmed her phone and clicked on Sharice’s contact information, chuckling at the thumbnail that Sharice had set herself: a small, but detailed picture of her frozen mid-dance move, mouth open in a laughing smile, hands on her hips and hair flying over her eyes.

She held the phone up to her ear and listened for ringing, checking her rearview mirror absentmindedly and nearly dropping her phone when she saw Izzie across the parking lot.

Her girlfriend was standing on the curb, hair clipped up and practice bag slung over her shoulder, laughing as she spoke to someone through the window of a Range Rover... someone who remained frustratingly obscured by the vehicle’s dark tint... someone who knew Izzie well enough to—_what the fuck—_give her a ride?

Casey spun around in her seat, straining to see as the back window began to fog. 

Izzie’s blurring figure opened the passenger door and stepped inside. 

“What the—”

“Casey!”

Startled, Casey remembered the phone at her ear.

“Casey!” Sharice yelled again, voice alight with glee.

“Hey—”

“Oh my gosh!” Sharice squealed.

Casey cracked her window, relishing the cool air. “Dude, what’s going on?”

“Guess!” Sharice yelped, “Guess!”

“I—” Casey shook her head, distracted, watching the Range Rover drive away. “I don’t know, what’s it about?”

“Me!” Sharice’s phone jostled excitedly. “And a certain college I’ve been dreaming of since freshman year!”

Casey’s jaw dropped. “No!”

“Yes!” 

“Dude!” Casey clapped her hands on the steering wheel in front of her. “Dude!”

“I know!” Sharice’s joy permeated the line. “FSU!” More jostling. “ FSU wants me!”

“Oh my god.” Casey beamed. “Congratulations, Sharice!”

“Thanks! So, my mom’s doing a little thing at the house tonight. Just pizza, family, you know.” She paused to catch her breath, but even in the silence Sharice’s happiness was earsplitting. “I know it’s short notice and you’re probably busy, but—”

“Are you kidding?” Casey put the car into reverse. “I’m on my way.”

# ——

“...and then at practice she totally ignores me, like, won’t even look at me.” Izzie exhaled, exhausted.

Twenty-six minutes and a few more vanilla bean infused ice cubes later, she had finally finished relaying—in horrifically boring detail, if you asked Bianca—why her and Casey were _ still _ fighting over 24 hours later. 

Bianca said nothing.

“Well?” Izzie sipped her coffee. Yesterday’s tasted better, but it was still pretty good. 

Bianca took on a look of seriousness. “Honestly?” 

Izzie nodded. 

“That is so dumb.” 

“What?” The straw popped out of Izzie’s mouth, catching momentarily on the inside of her cheek.

Bianca spoke slowly, teasing. “Yeah, like, probably the worst fight I’ve ever heard of.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, so, lemme know if I got this right: Casey is mad at you because you lied about being good at something she’s bad at, and you’re mad at her because you think she _ thought _something mean about you?”

The candor of Bianca’s evaluation hung between them, untouched, for several seconds.

Izzie chewed the inside of her lip. “Well when you say it like that…”

“Say it like what?” Bianca asked genuinely. Her voice was calm, backed with observation, exactly how Izzie imagined Bianca’s parents must speak to their distressed clients. “That’s exactly what happened, isn’t it?”

“No.” Izzie refuted stubbornly. “It’s… it’s more complicated than that.”

Bianca furrowed her brow. “Doesn’t sound like it.”

“Okay,” Izzie rested her elbow on the inner ledge of the door, “So, what? I’m supposed to just pretend she didn’t accuse me of cheating? Like I’m not smart enough to pass macro on my own?”

“Casey didn’t say that.” Bianca held her finger up, correcting. 

Izzie sat up again. “She asked me if I bought my notes!”

“Yeah, because you _ let _her believe you were bombing the tests, too. You let her think you were failing. It was an unstated assumption.”

Izzie rolled her eyes. “God, I get it, your parents are lawyers.”

Bianca chuckled. “Seriously, though, is that really what you’re mad about?”

“I mean… yeah.”

“Why?” Bianca shot her a curious look. “It’s kind of a compliment. Your notes were so good that even her tutor thought you bought them.” She smiled. “Like damn, maybe you _should _sell them.” 

Izzie shook her head, gazing broodily out the window. “It wasn’t a compliment, trust me.”

She was coiled up like a snake in the passenger seat now, her body bunched up, limbs covering limbs. She hadn’t anticipated being on the defense, and even though she was getting more comfortable with Bianca, she still wasn’t used to her... flippancy. 

“Oh, come on.” Bianca groaned. “Don’t sulk on the leather.”

“I’m not sulking,” she uncrossed her arms, “I’m thinking.”

Bianca nodded. “Look, I’m really not trying to be a bitch about it. I just don’t get why you’re dragging this out?” She paused thoughtfully. “Unless that’s the point and all _this_ to make sure the makeup sex is extra hot. Which, like, no judgment, been there.”

Izzie twisted away from Bianca.

She could’ve fired back something snarky and smart, but it wouldn’t have thrown the scent off.

Izzie wore the truth too plainly in her face, and it seemed to leak from her pores every time someone assumed she and Casey were already having sex. Penelope and Quinn had made the same assumption a while ago, shortly after their relationship went public, and for obvious reasons, neither Izzie nor Casey had ever corrected them. 

All in all, those unstated assumptions were really kicking her ass today.

Izzie continued to look out the window, ignoring Bianca’s questioning eyes as they halted at a stoplight. The red glow saturated them both in a vivid hue, making for what would have been a devastatingly melancholy picture had someone photographed them right then.

“What?” Bianca’s eyes were narrowed in concentration.

Izzie blushed, refusing to look at her. “What?” 

“What did I say?” Bianca sounded uncharacteristically concerned now.

“Nothing,” Izzie mumbled back.

The red light—perhaps the longest red light in the history of red lights—continued to cast them aglow.

“Okay, you’re being weird.” Bianca offered quietly. 

With that, Izzie sighed and turned slowly to meet her gaze. 

“What?” Bianca laughed nervously when she saw Izzie's face.

Izzie grit her teeth. 

She shouldn’t.

She shouldn’t.

She shouldn’t.

So why, then, did she _ want _ to tell Bianca? What made her think that someone who was equal parts brutal honesty and unfiltered nonchalance was the right person to tell? Had the day really taken that kind of toll on her?

Bianca raised her eyebrows. “You’re starting to freak me out, Izzie.”

She swallowed. “Casey and I haven’t had sex.”

Bianca stared at her, expressionless, for so long that she didn’t notice the light turn green. 

“Go.” Izzie whispered.

Still quiet, Bianca drove forward. 

“Say something.” 

“I mean…” Bianca let her eyes drift from the road to Izzie’s worried face for just a second. “It’s no wonder you guys are fighting over stupid stuff.”

When Izzie started to shrink into her seat, Bianca gave her a reassuring look.

“Hey.” She shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Plenty of people wait until… I don’t know, whenever.”

“We’re not waiting for anything.” Izzie let her head fall against the headrest with a sigh. “We’ve tried, but there’s never any time. Or privacy. And we don’t wanna just bang in the backseat of some car.” Her eyes instinctively shot to Bianca’s sumptuous backseat. 

_ Okay. Maybe that backseat would do. _

Izzie sighed again. “And now we’re having this stupid fight.” She sat up, enlightened. “God, you’re right! This fight is _ so _stupid.”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t wanna say I told you so, but—”

“Then don’t.” Izzie growled.

Bianca pursed her lips. 

After another few minutes, they finally turned onto Izzie’s street. Up ahead, they could both spot the modest apartment that Bianca had dropped her off at yesterday. Only there was a car in the driveway this time, and Izzie remembered the kids would be home.

Feeling deflated, she rubbed her eyes. 

Bianca slowed the car along the sidewalk, observing Izzie as she reached for the gym bag between her feet. 

“Izzie.” Bianca waited for her Izzie to look at her. “All that stuff you said about time and privacy…”

“Yeah?” She frowned, her grip was loose on the door handle. 

She shrugged coolly. “I can help with that.” 

# ——

After being introduced to everyone she didn’t already know—Sharice's grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, youth group friends—Casey spent some time sitting around the kitchen talking with her old Newton friends, swapping stories and feeling nostalgic. 

It was a welcome distraction from fretting over Izzie and whoever had taken her home. Even so, Casey couldn’t have been more thankful when Sharice whisked her away from the crowd to camp out in the privacy of her bedroom for a bit.

“So what’s up with you?” Sharice was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the full bed, rocking back and forth, wearing a brand new FSU sweatshirt.

“You know,” Casey shrugged. “Same old.”

Sharice sucked her teeth. “You gotta give me more than that. Have you heard anything from UCLA?”

Casey shook her head. “Not since the tournament. My coach’s been talking with the recruiter, though. Keeping him up to date and stuff.” 

“Nice.” Sharice smiled, then tucked her chin to her shoulder. “And how’s Mrs. Gardner?”

“Bleh,” Casey stuck her tongue out, “Her and my dad got back from their concert and I thought that was gonna cure their PDA lovefest, but now they’re planning a second honeymoon and dropping a lot of not so subtle hints about how they’re gonna spend it.”

"Awww, that’s so sweet.” Sharice extended her leg to nudge Casey with her toe. “Why you gotta be such a hater?”

Casey nudged her back. “Because they’re gross!”

“I get it. My parents are getting like that too, now.” Sharice sat back on her hands, “My dad said after I leave for school, they’re going on a couples cruise.”

“What’s that?”

“Girl, I don’t know. I learned to stop asking questions.” She shuddered.

A beat of silence. 

“And how’s you know who?”

“You can say her name, Sharice.” Casey leaned up on her elbows. “She’s not Voldermort.”

“Shhh!” Sharice held a finger up to her lips, then pointed it across the room at a Harry Potter poster. “We’ve talked about this, Casey.”

Casey grinned. “You’re such a dork.” 

“The coolest dork you know.” Sharice beamed. “Fine—how’s Izzie?”

“She’s…” Casey stared guiltily at her, watching Sharice’s expression morph from curious to smug. Casey groaned, “Don’t.”

Sharice held her hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, you didn’t have to.” Casey reached above her head for one of Sharice’s stuffed animals and flung it at her. 

Reacting fast, Sharice caught the pink bear with exaggerated concern. She kissed the bear's forehead and whispered something unintelligible in its ear before setting it back down on the bed.

“All I’m saying is: I see a pattern here, Casey.” She crawled over to where Casey was and lay down in the spot next her, squishing them side-by-side. 

Casey sighed having no choice but to acknowledge where Sharice was coming from. “I know. But we really don’t fight that much.”

“That much?” Sharice raised her eyebrows, “You were fighting the last time I saw you, too.”

“Okay, that was different, though.” Casey rolled onto her side, “Everything had just happened between us and we were both confused.” 

Sharice winced. “Yeah, but you weren’t so confused that you made out with some random guy right in front of her.”

Casey bristled at the memory. She knew no matter how good things were with her and Izzie, there would always be _ that_, and _ that _would always be Sharice’s first impression of Izzie and how she treated Casey.

Sharice studied Casey’s fallen face. “Sorry,” she whispered, “That wasn’t cool.”

Casey smiled weakly. 

They were back to staring at the ceiling then, peaceful seconds turning to minutes.

“I can’t believe you’re going to Florida.” 

“Me neither.” Sharice mused, her voice buzzing with pride. “My cousin says it gets so hot in the summer that anything you leave in your car melts.”

Casey raised an eyebrow. “Anything?” 

“Yeah.” Sharice reached into her back pocket. “She sent pictures, look.”

Sharice’s cousin’s montage of melting goods made Casey laugh until her stomach spasmed and she started to cry. She was wheezing for air by the time Sharice swiped to a picture of melting sunglasses that looked more like a Dali painting than a summertime accessory.

“I don’t get it.” Casey wiped at the corner of her eyes, aftershocks of giggles still zinging through her. “Why does she keep leaving this stuff in her car?”

Sharice turned to her, “Casey, Floridians are… different.” 

# ——

Two adolescent boys wrestled each other, bumping up against the legs of a coffee table with gruff grunts. 

“Cut it out!” Izzie called from the kitchen, her vision into the living room obscured by the wall that kept the laundry room. “I mean it!”

She smiled to herself. She’d missed this.

The microwave chimed and she abandoned her station at the stovetop, moving quickly so not to burn anything. She grabbed the bag of steamable broccoli by the corner, practiced as she cut it open with a pair of large, bright blue scissors. Curls of steam rose from the opening, and she leaned her face away as she emptied the florets into a plastic bowl. 

Leaping back to the stove now, she stirred the fragrant mac ‘n’ cheese, adding dashes of pepper and garlic powder. Pleased with how everything looked, she turned the stove off and shifted the pot to one of the back eyes until it was ready to be served.

She looked around the kitchen. Years of cooking for a small army of children had taught her to clean as she went, so there wasn’t much left to do. Not in this room, anyway. 

The grunting from the living room continued, followed by utter silence, followed—inevitably—by a wail of crying. 

Izzie raced into the living room, unsurprised to find Luis—three years his brother’s senior—standing over Ethan, shushing and pleading with him to be quiet. 

“What is going on in here?” Izzie asked, hand on her hip.

Not that she ever needed to ask. All the kids had shit poker faces.

Before either of the boys could answer, Maya—who was perched on the couch like a baby doll—withdrew her thumb from her mouth and pointed from Luis to Ethan. “He pushed his head in the table.”

“No! It was an accident!” Luis was talking to Izzie, but looking at Ethan. “Tell her!”

“I don’t care if it was an accident.” Izzie knelt beside Ethan and reached out to touch his soft dark hair. “Are you okay?” 

Ethan nodded, whimpering.

Izzie turned back around to look at Luis, catching him pull a face at Maya, “No more wrestling in here, got it?”

“But it was an accident, Izzie.” He smacked his hands against his thighs. 

Ethan scrambled to his feet now. “Yeah, it was an accident!”

Izzie stared at the two of them, thick as thieves despite their age difference. She sighed, knowing full well that there would be play fighting whether she was around to stop it or not. 

“Fine, just…” She looked around the living room, chuckling at Maya, who’d already popped her thumb back into her mouth and refocused on the TV, “Move the table out of the way next time, alright? Nobody needs a concussion.”

Luis nodded. “Okay!”

“What’s a cuh-cushion?” Ethan was staring at her blankly.

“Um.” Izzie squinted, thinking. “It’s like a really bad headache.” 

“Oh, I think I got one of those on the plane.” Ethan was looking up at her, pointing to his head. “I couldn’t hear anything.”

Izzie smiled, reaching for his shoulder. “That’s not how it works.” 

“I’m hungry.” Luis added idly, admiring the stretched out ring of his collar. 

“Come on then,” Izzie gestured to the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready.”

The boys scurried off towards the kitchen, giggling about broccoli and farts, but Maya hung back, glued to her spot on the couch.

“You too,” Izzie said, reaching down to pick her up.

“Noooo.” Maya wined. 

“Yeeeees,” She teased, bringing the preschooler to her hip.

# ——

It was after 11:00PM when Casey’s phone rang. 

She’d only been asleep for half an hour or so, happy to crash after getting back from Sharice’s. She’d gorged herself on pizza and nostalgia all night, surrounded by her Newton friends, too busy celebrating to care about her diet or her homework. 

“Hello?” She answered groggily, partly convinced she was still dreaming.

“Hey.” Izzie’s voice was quiet and unsure. “Did I wake you up?”

Casey rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes, a powerful dose of relief and agitation coursing through her as she recognized the voice.

“Izzie?” She asked, starting to sit upright.

“Sorry,” Izzie paused, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay. It’s—I’m up now.”

The line went quiet. 

Casey’s anxiety spiked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, I, um… I called to say sorry—for not telling you about macro, because I should have.” She paused, choosing the words carefully. “I know I should have helped you, but it’s not like we’re great at actually studying when we get together anyway. That’s not an excuse, I just—I’m sorry. And look, I know you don’t think I’m stupid. I don’t even know why I said that.”

Casey’s stomach settled hearing the apology. 

She wet her lips to speak. Her tongue tasted stale, so she reached for the water she’d left on her dresser and took a parched gulp before responding. 

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have assumed you bought your notes, that’s not even like you. Even if you were failing, you wouldn’t do that. I think…” She readjusted, feeling embarrassed. “I might’ve been subconsciously jealous about it… or, well, that’s Sharice’s theory.” 

“Sharice?”

“Yeah, I saw her today.” Casey yawned, “An FSU recruiter called her, so she called me pretty much screaming about it.” 

“Holy shit, that’s awesome. I’m so happy for her. That’s where she wanted to go, right?”

Casey smiled. Of course Izzie had remembered that. “Yup, her first pick.” She scratched her elbow. “Anyway, we were talking and I told her what happened and she totally took your side.”

There was a spark of surprise laughter from Izzie’s end of the line.

“No way.”

“I know.” Casey chuckled. “She was saying how there’s so much going on right now, and you probably deal with a lot of stuff I don’t even see, so it’s kind of unfair for me to expect you to just drop everything to help me.” 

“Yeah, but I should have offered.”

Casey could hear the guilt in Izzie’s voice. 

“We’re both swamped as it is, though.” She slid one leg out from her covers to cool down. “I get it, Iz.”

A long—but not uncomfortable—stretch of silence passed. 

“You know, I told Bianca what happened, too.” Izzie started to laugh. “Okay, I know that sounds weird. It’s—um—a long story, basically she’s been giving me a ride home.” A pause. “Anyway, after I told her everything, she took your side.”

Piece by piece, Casey digested that information.

First, there was relief: the blacked out Range Rover was Bianca’s! Then, confusion: the blacked out Range Rover was Bianca’s? And finally, something akin to suspicion: the blacked out Range Rover was Bianca’s…

“So... you and Bianca are friends now?”

“I mean,” Izzie struggled for the words, “Sort of.”

Casey thought back to lunch, how Bianca hadn’t said anything about giving Izzie a ride. “Okay…”

“What?”

“Nothing… it’s just weird.” She tried not to sound too judgemental. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Izzie laughed. “She’s like Penelope, except really blunt.”

_ Really rude is more like it. _

“If you say so…” Casey shrugged.

Silence.

“I—” They both started at the same time. 

“You go,” Izzie offered.

Casey thought back to them standing in the library yesterday, right before she’d royally put her foot in her mouth. She’d gone first that time, and she had paid for it. 

“No, you.” Casey insisted.

“Okay,” Izzie drew a breath, “I hate fighting with you, Casey. And I feel like we keep getting into it about stupid stuff because we’re both stressed with school, and track, but like, I think it’s something else, too. Do you know what I’m saying?” 

“Definitely.” Casey nodded. “It’s like, on top of all that stuff, we’re gonna be leaving for college soon, and what if we don’t both get into UCLA?”

“Woah,” Izzie strained, “Um, not what I’m talking about… but thanks for the reminder.”

Casey started to blush. “Sorry, I—well what do you mean then?”

“Um…” Izzie laughed nervously. “Nevermind.”

Casey closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear. 

“Sorry.” She said again.

“It’s okay. We should definitely talk about that more, just… uh, not tonight, okay?”

“Okay.” Casey nodded. After a few seconds, she asked, “Izzie?”

“Yeah?”

“Why _ didn’t _ you tell me about macro? I know there’s stuff you don’t like to talk about, and I get that, but this I don’t really understand.”

Quiet.

“Hello?” Casey intoned after a few more unanswered seconds had passed.

“I’m here.” Izzie’s voice was soft, a cracking whisper. “This is gonna sound stupid, but I didn’t tell you because I didn’t believe it either.”

Casey sank back under her covers, rolling away from her bedroom door. “What do you mean?” 

“The first time I aced one of the quizzes, I thought Aisling graded it wrong. Then it happened again and I thought she was, I don’t know, testing me to see if I would say anything? So I finally went up to her after class one day and asked about it, but she said everything was right. Then she started talking about how I showed _ real promise _ and I was so confused, Case. You and Penelope were always talking about how hard it was, so I started to _ feel _ like I was cheating, even though I knew I wasn’t.” She sighed. “Like, try to understand that the only thing I’ve ever really been good at like this is track, and I could always explain track, you know? Practice more, run faster. Simple.”

“You still could have told me.”

“I know, I know. And I was planning on telling you yesterday after study hall, but then…”

“Right.” Casey picked at her nails in the dark, then remembered something else Izzie had angrily confessed. “Well what about that scholarship? Were you ever gonna tell me about that?”

“Why?” Izzie balked. “It’s not like I’m actually gonna win it.”

Casey bristled. “What are you talking about?” 

“I can’t even finish the essay.”

“Why? What’s the topic?”

“Me.” Izzie answered flatly. “My life.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Aisling thinks I should just,” Izzie did her best to emulate their teacher’s measured tone, “_Throw caution to the wind. _”

Casey chuckled.

“She says the people on the committee read all types of essays and nobody would judge me, but… I don’t know. I still feel weird about it.”

“Well, don’t.” Casey answered, surprised by her own determination. “If you don’t tell your story, then someone else is just gonna tell theirs—and it won’t be as good—and they’ll win instead. You should have seen the way Rachel looked at your notes, Iz. She thought you were a legit genius. Pretty sure I saw her smile for once in her miserable life.”

Izzie’s laugh sounded across the line.

“I’m serious. Finish the essay.” Casey cleared her throat. “And, hey, I can help too, okay? I mean, obviously _ don’t _ask me for help with any of the math stuff, but… you’re my girlfriend and I got you.”

“When did you get so good at pep talks, Newton?” 

She could hear Izzie grinning. 

“I think Elsa’s really starting to rub off on me. I almost said _ neat _yesterday.”

They laughed together then, before settling into a pleasant silence. 

Casey stretched. “I almost called you last night. Well, texted.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, but I chickened out. Plus, it was late.”

“I was probably still up.”

“At one in the morning?” Casey asked skeptically. 

“Mhm.”

“Doing what?”

Izzie started to laugh.

“Oh god, what? Were you, like, looking up ways to break up with me or something?”

Izzie laughed even harder now.

“What?” Casey smiled.

# ——

After about 20 minutes, the yawning on both ends had started to interrupt the conversation.

“Stop yawning,” Casey grumbled, “You’re making me yawn.”

“Uh, no.” Izzie objected, “_Your _ yawning is making _ me _yawn.”

Casey grinned sleepily. “I’m tired but I don’t want to go to sleep yet.”

“I know.” Izzie let her head loll against the wall behind her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Casey rolled onto her opposite side, tucking her legs in. 

“How much?”

“A lot.” 

Izzie wet her lips and smiled. “I bet I missed you more.”

“Doubt it.” Casey's answered hushed, surprised Elsa hadn't already detected this phone call and busted down the door to end it. “I checked my phone, like, a zillion times.”

“That's nothin', I cleaned the entire house even though no one was here. Just to distract myself from missing you.”

“Well, I listened to Paige make raisin jokes for an hour to distract myself from missing you.”

“Well, I did a workout video with a guy called Ripped Ricky to distract myself, and honestly, Case, he was very ripped. Pretty sure I pulled a muscle.”

Casey laughed into her fist to muffle the sound.

“Okay, well, I ate ice cream with Elsa to distract myself from missing you.”

“Damn.” Izzie mused. “Really?”

“Yeah—so I win, I missed you more.”

“Well, I…” Izzie bit her lip. 

“You what?”

The memory struck Izzie between her thighs: her hand tucked into her underwear, her lips mouthing sounds into her pillow, her head dizzy with thoughts of Casey. 

“I thought about you all night.” 

Casey smiled, noticing the change in air. “You did?”

For the second night in a row, Izzie’s fingers snuck past her waistband.

“Yeah.” She breathed out. “I did.”

Casey gulped. “Is Carly there?”

Izzie glimpsed the empty crib, shaking her head. “She’s at her dad’s house.”

“Oh.” Casey’s voice was low. Tense seconds wasted away before she awkwardly added, “That’s cool.” 

Izzie’s mortification was instant. 

“Sorry.” She retracted her hand. “This is weird, right?” 

“No,” Casey whispered quickly, lifting her head and trying to double check that she had locked her door. “No, it’s not weird at all.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause we can just go to sleep.”

“I’m sure.” 

Izzie kept her hand flat on her stomach. 

The silence pricked and prodded.

“I think about you when I do it, anyway.” Casey finally confessed after a moment of hesitation.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you did that.” 

Casey nodded. “It helps me sleep.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Izzie’s face was hot.

There was a charged silence then, interposed by hushed shifting on both ends—the conspicuous removal of covers, clothes.

Then they were both breathing quietly into the phone, stifling louder, more vulnerable sounds.

“What’re you thinking about?” Izzie asked, fingers strumming.

Casey exhaled. “Kissing you.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“Come on,” Izzie whispered, “Where?”

Casey’s voice was a broken whisper. “You know where.” 

# ——

The following morning, Izzie approached Bianca beaming and feeling rejuvenated. 

“Uh oh,” Bianca appraised her and smirked. “Looks like someone won’t be needing a ride home today.”

“Shut up.” Izzie slouched against the row of lockers beside Bianca’s open one. “You were right, about everything.”

Bianca closed her locker gently. “Great, then I’ll just have my assistant mail you an invoice.”

“You’re kind of obnoxious, you know that?” Izzie grinned. 

Bianca shrugged, smiling, as she slouched beside her to watch their bleary-eyed peers shuffle by.

“Thanks,” Izzie slipped her thumbs through the loops on her backpack, “Seriously.”

"Sure." Bianca nodded, chewing her gum, eyeing the passersby with little interest.

"But, um..." Izzie felt the heat kick in behind her cheeks. 

Curious, Bianca turned to her.

“I thought about that other thing you said, too.”

Izzie waited for Bianca to catch on, and blushed fiercely when she didn’t—or, more likely, pretended she didn’t.

“You know, about helping me with Casey.” 

"Oh." Bianca pushed off of the lockers, rounding on her. “_Oh. _”

Izzie took a deep breath, “I'm in. So…?”

Bianca smiled with all her teeth, looking ferocious and capable. “So let’s get you laid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever had quiet (and kind of clueless) phone sex under your parents' roof, this one goes out to you.


	10. No Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day before Penelope's birthday party, and everything's starting to come together. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August was pure madness. I appreciate your patience.

It was nearly evening, and though the sun hadn’t yet begun its descent, the hue of the sky was already changing. 

The drive home from practice had involved gliding steadily towards the tree-lined horizon, and marveling silently at the pink-tinged clouds and strawberry swirls overhead. Avoiding the early evening rush hour had made for easy coasting along the wet roads and fewer stops than usual. 

Chiefly, though, it had made for an unexpected sense of romance. 

Save for a boxy city bus every now and then, it felt, to Casey and Izzie, like they had the entire city to themselves on what was sure to be a beautiful night. 

They had both picked up on the change in air to the usually chilly, traffic-jammed car ride — and both done something rather subtle about it.

Casey snuck heart-heavy glances at Izzie, and Izzie—feeling Casey’s searching eyes, but saying nothing— simply entwined their fingers over the center console and hummed to the slow, R&B song she’d put on. 

It wasn’t until they parked—strategically, a little ways down the street so that they couldn’t be seen from Izzie’s apartment windows—that the subdued energy in the car…

Shifted. 

Faces flushed. Mouths collided. Windows fogged. 

Casey was cradling Izzie’s face with one hand and lifting the hem of her girlfriend’s track hoodie with the other. Izzie responded in kind, twisting her torso so that she could lean into Casey’s touch.

Izzie’s navel was warm against the flat of Casey’s hand, and she took her time grazing the lay of her girlfriend’s skin until Izzie sighed into her mouth. Then Casey gripped her waist. Roughly, involuntarily. 

Izzie smiled into the kiss.

Casey smiled back, unclicking her seatbelt.

Seconds passed, neither of them relenting. 

They played off of each other’s intensity like it was a game of chicken — growing bolder and bolder until someone could clear their lust-clouded head long enough to stop.

Of course, that instinct to stop—to pull away, to settle down, to know better than to maul your girlfriend in a residential area—had been dulled.

Casey and Izzie were still—whether they actively knew it or not—coming down from the unexpected high of last week’s spontaneous phone sex episode. It hadn’t happened again since, but the lone experience had set a new precedent for their relationship, drawn a new line in the sand—this one several yards ahead of the old, touch-starved one.

It was exciting.

And scary.

And making both of them unusually reckless because here they were— each of them still sore from practice, long hours of homework and studying ahead of them— burning the last of their daylight making out in one of the parallel spots outside of Izzie’s apartment complex. 

Nevermind that Casey’s windows weren’t tinted. Nevermind that it was still bright enough out that joggers, dog walkers, or any of Izzie’s neighbors could have seen them. Could have said something.

Izzie was finding that she could tune all of _ that _ out when Casey’s tongue was in her mouth.

Her hands found Casey’s face, fingers creeping down to her jawline before resting so that they were half on Casey’s chin, half on her neck. 

A car whizzed by then, loud and sloshing. 

Izzie startled. 

Apparently there were still _ some _things Casey’s tongue couldn’t tune out.

“M’kay—” Izzie mumbled into Casey’s mouth, wincing as she mustered the strength to pull away. “I gotta...” She eased further back, giggling as Casey’s mouth chased after her. “I gotta go.” 

“Wait.” Casey’s voice was soft and her eyes were still closed. She tugged Izzie forward with the hand still buried under her hoodie. “I’m not done yet.”

“Yeah, you are.” Izzie replied, trying to sound resolute as the heartbeat between her legs hammered away. 

Casey’s brown eyes fluttered open. “Just a little more.” 

“I can’t.” Izzie swallowed. “I gotta make dinner, help Luis with homework…” She smiled weakly, guiding Casey’s hand out from under her hoodie. 

“Fine,” Casey huffed playfully, “Go be a good sister then.”

With great discipline, Izzie folded her own hands in her lap. “I wish I could stay.”

“Me too.” Casey grinned goofily, then jerked her chin back towards the stucco apartment at the end of the road. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow night, anyway.”

Izzie’s stomach did a graceless somersault.

_ Tomorrow. _

“Yeah.” She gave Casey a peck on the cheek then opened her door to get out. “It’s gonna be fun.”

No sooner had she closed the door behind her did she hear the mechanical whir of Casey’s window opening. 

Smiling, Izzie poked her head through the window.

“Really?” She giggled.

“What?” Casey was staring at Izzie’s mouth as she spoke. “It’s hot in here.”

“Casey!” Izzie chided, making her girlfriend chuckle. She bit her lip deliberatively. 

“What?” Casey asked.

“Nothing, uh, I just can’t remember if I told you already but...” Izzie winced, knowing she absolutely had not told her yet. “Bianca’s picking me up tomorrow so we can get the cake before everyone starts showing up, so… I don’t need a ride.” She paused, needing to fill the uncomfortable silence. “It’s huge, Casey. Like, the biggest cake I’ve ever seen, and Penelope’s probably not even gonna eat any of it because she’s terrified of carbs.”

Casey’s expression gave way to visible annoyance—and maybe a smidgen of suspicion.

_ Damnit, Izzie. Should’ve just texted her and avoided this interaction altogether. _

“What?” She asked nervously.

“You didn’t tell me that.” Casey shrugged sadly. “I thought we were going together.”

Izzie tilted her head, trying for a smile. “We’ll have all night together, Case.”

“I don’t get why Quinn’s not doing all this shit with her.” Casey grumbled. “Bianca takes you home _ twice _ and now it’s like you’re her assistant. Can’t someone else help her?”

When Izzie’s face fell, Casey corrected herself immediately.

“Sorry.” Casey sighed. “I know you’re just trying to make things nice for Penelope.”

Izzie nodded, mad at herself for putting Casey in a bad mood right before she went home. She wondered, momentarily, if she shouldn’t give Elsa a heads up — now _ that _would properly set Casey off.

“Quinn’s pretty busy preparing for…” Izzie smiled cheekily. “Y’know.”

“Oh my god!” Casey groaned, slapping the steering wheel. “If I have to hear about Austin Houser one more time!”

Izzie laughed, glancing back at the familiar apartments. Neat rows of ugly shutters and fading paint.

“Well,” Izzie leaned her body against the car, “Hopefully she gets it out of her system tomorrow night?”

Casey grimaced. “She better. I love Quinn, but she’s obsessed with that guy.”

Izzie nodded. She could still see the weight of her bad news wearing on Casey’s face; they had talked about driving to the party together all week, getting excited about maybe even picking up some of their teammates along the way. It was going to be one big caravan of laughter and excitement as everyone readied themselves for the first major party of their senior year.

Izzie knew she had dashed those hopes now, so she leaned a little further through the window and smiled.

“Hey, I meant to tell you—”

“Great, more good news…” Casey started, rolling her eyes.

Izzie knew she deserved that, but felt her brow furrow nonetheless.

“Actually, I was gonna say that after you dropped me off yesterday, Luis said he wanted to meet you… Well, race you, I guess. He’s going through a Flash thing right now.”

“Pfft.” Casey perked up, instantly brightening at the idea of meeting one of Izzie’s siblings. “I’ll dust that kid.” 

Izzie scoffed. “He’s eight, Casey.”

Casey shrugged, grinning. “Gotta teach ‘em young.”

“Tough talk from a girl who was winded after cariocas today…”

Casey’s eyes bulged. “Wowwwwww.” 

Izzie laughed, pushing off of the car door. She had allowed herself to stall long enough, easily falling into the habit of trying to draw out every moment she could with Casey. 

“I didn’t know you, uh, talked to your family about me.” Casey offered nervously.

Izzie nodded. “I mean, not everything… obviously. But, yeah, they all know who you are.”

Casey’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Izzie nodded, relishing how happy this was making Casey. 

Casey absorbed this information, trying—and failing—to downplay how ecstatic it made her. Suddenly, she was daydreaming about taking Izzie and her siblings out for ice cream, or going bowling together. If she ever got to race Luis, she decided, she would let him win. Well, the first few races, anyway.

“So, I’ll text you?” Izzie was asking, pulling Casey out of her trance.

“Yeah, text me.” She smiled, watching her girlfriend turn to leave.

# ——

When Izzie unlocked the front door to the apartment, she found herself stepping into mild chaos. 

The living room had been rearranged so that nothing bisected its middle. In fact, the carpeted space had been fully cleared so that all that remained in its center were two little shirtless boys, whose wiry bodies writhed in between yelps and tickled screams. 

Izzie squinted as the improv wrestling match unfurled. Ethan and Luis were both—yes, Izzie was sure of it now—wearing some of their aunt’s dark lipsticks as eye black. 

“Wow.” Izzie chuckled, stepping further inside and closing the front door behind her.

“Izzie!” Ethan yipped, pinned under one of Luis’ bent legs. 

Valerie stood up from the couch pushed against the far wall, looking happy to see her. Izzie’s aunt—or Val, as she insisted everyone call her— was a short woman who looked a lot like Izzie’s mom, despite their six-year age difference. The two women had the same slender nose, tiny dark eyes, and curvy figures that lent themselves easily to form-fitting clothes. Despite their physical similarities, it’d always felt readily apparent to Izzie that Valerie was the older sister—she had the air of a caretaker, and a sense of responsibility similar to that of a first-born child.

“Izzie, watch this!” Luis called, hooking his leg harder over Ethan’s shoulder.

“Careful, guys.” Izzie levelled, stepping around the boys to greet Valerie with a hug.

Her aunt’s arms flung lazily around her shoulders, a testament to how worn out she was after looking after Ethan, Luis, and Maya for just a few hours. It was an exhaustion that Izzie was familiar with, but had, truthfully, missed when everyone was away in New Jersey.

“Hey,” Izzie spoke into the crook of the woman’s neck, inhaling her floral perfume; an Aunt Val trademark.

Valerie’s smile was pretty and tired. “Hey, yourself.”

They both turned their attention to Ethan and Luis now. The boys were laughing hysterically, one stapled under the other as a wrestling move devolved into merciless tickling.

“Quit it!” Ethan yelled through boisterous laughter. “St—stop!”

Luis didn’t let up.

Izzie turned to Valerie, a single eyebrow raised. 

“Don’t look at me, they asked if I wanted to see some dance moves and before I knew it, I was watching this.”

Izzie chuckled, slipping out of her backpack. “Is that your lipstick?”

Valerie nodded, unfazed. She had a sweet spot for the boys, Izzie knew, and didn’t have the heart to tell them no—no matter how ludicrous their request. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t like that color anyway. Some girl in the mall sold it to me,” Valerie laughed, grabbing her purse from the couch, “She said it took five years off of me. I said: how old do you think I am, Miss Thing? And you know what she said?”

Izzie’s eyes were wide as she shook her head. She had a hard time imagining anyone talking to Aunt Val so boldly.

“Forty!” Valerie clutched her chest, scandalized. “You kids,” she shook her head, chuckling. “No filter, I swear.” Then, as she draped her oversized purse over her arm, added, “Cherish your youth, Isabelle.”

Izzie nodded. “Will do.”

“School was good?” 

Izzie nodded again. “Yeah. And practice.”

“Good. Oh, before I forget.” Valerie reached into her purse, withdrawing a stack of stapled papers and handing them to Izzie. “They got progress reports today,” she lowered her voice, “You-know-who is still talking back to his teacher.”

Izzie sighed knowingly. 

Luis had entered troublesome territory after turning ten, terrorizing his teacher and interposing class time with nonstop jokes. Izzie knew he was just acting out, declaring his hurt over their mother’s most recent disappearance, but it pained her to watch a little boy so full of laughter and joy be pegged as a problem child. 

“Okay,” her voice was serious, “I’ll talk to him.”

Valerie smiled reassuringly. “They had snacks about an hour ago, so don’t rush on dinner, ‘kay? And I left some money in the kitchen, under the toaster.”

“I already told you—” Izzie started.

“Hush, now.” Valerie waved her off. “You can keep the money or toast it, I don’t care. But it’s there, alright?”

“Okay.” She gave her aunt a sideways hug. “Thank you.” 

Then they stood there for another moment, just watching the boys wrestle. Maya was, according to Valerie, taking a nap in her room after a long day of coloring turkeys and pilgrims to hang up around her classroom in anticipation of Thanksgiving.

Valerie’s voice was low when she broke their silence. “I’m guessing you still haven’t heard from her?” 

Izzie didn’t take her eyes off of the boys. She followed their rapid movements, flexible and daring, as they worked hard to subdue one another without injury. Without saying anything, she shook her head. 

Valerie sighed.

“That woman.” Valerie sucked her teeth and Izzie could hear the scorn in her voice. “Now I know better than to badmouth Natalie in front of her own kid, but sometimes I wonder how we’re related. Your Nona didn’t raise us like this.” She shook her head, perplexed.

Izzie’s chest tightened.

It wasn’t a matter of agreeing with Valerie or not, in fact, Izzie usually _ did _ agree with whatever slights her aunt launched about her mom. That was the fucked up part, though. Even though Izzie could attest to every nasty thing that Valerie had to say about her, it still felt, somehow and impossibly _ wrong _not to stand up for her mom in these situations. 

It was a bit like listening to someone else make fun of your sibling — it just wasn’t totally _ okay _when someone else did it. 

Izzie shifted her weight from foot to foot, deliberating how to change the subject. “Oh, hey, you can still watch them tomorrow night, right?” 

“Yeah.” Valerie nodded. “Date night with my favorite boys!” She exclaimed, moving into the invisible wrestling ring to kiss each of the boys on the forehead before making her way to the front door. 

“Call if you need anything?” She asked, opening the front door. 

Izzie laughed. “You live upstairs.”

Valerie fixed her blouse in the doorway. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like a little warning, Miss Thing.” She smiled affectionately, “I love you. Call me if you hear from her.”

“I will. I love you, too.” Izzie closed the door behind her.

# ——

Casey shifted in the driver seat. 

She was uncomfortably damp between her legs, eager to get home and shower already. Naturally, she was stuck behind the world’s slowest moving school bus — which was, apparently, going to drop each and every middle schooler aboard off right in front of their house.

One by one.

Stop. Start. Stop. Start. 

She was so fixated on trying to torch the bus’s little stop sign with her mind that she almost didn’t even hear the radio cut out, replaced by the sound of Elsa’s ringtone— a somber bell tone. 

“Hello?” Casey answered, trailing the school bus a tad too close. She glared at the oblivious middle schooler who had trotted down the bus steps, a short boy with AirPods in and his face bent down towards his phone. 

“Hey, sorry,” Elsa responded, sounding busy. Casey could hear some sort of pot clanging around in the background. “I thought we had tomatoes, but we don’t. No tuscan chicken without tomatoes,” Elsa giggled, “Think you can stop by the supermarket on your way in?”

Casey looked around the familiar neighborhood she was passing through. She couldn’t have been more than five minutes out from the house at this point, and she bowed her head in defeat as the school bus lurched forward again.

“Yeah, sure.” Casey answered, trying hard not to let any attitude leak through. “Just tomatoes?”

“Yeah—oh, hold on—” Elsa was speaking to someone else now. “Your dad says he needs nuts, um, almonds? Oh, those little packs of almonds he likes! The snack sets with the blue label, you know the ones I’m talking about?”

Casey cut her blinker on, veering into the leftmost lane to make a U-turn. She grinned mischievously.

“Got it. Nuts for dad, potatoes for you.”

“No, Casey. Tomatoes, not—”

“Potatoes,” Casey tempered her voice, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, I heard you, loud and clear.”

Elsa was flustered now. “No, tomatoes, Casey! Tomatoes with a T, like… Toffee.”

“Coffee?” Casey grinned wider, weaving around the median. “I thought you just wanted nuts and potatoes? What kind of coffee?”

“No, not coffee!” Elsa’s voice rose an octave as she started to enunciate each word slowly. “Tomatoes, with a T. And almonds for your dad. That’s it. Just—ugh, I’ll text you a list, don’t buy any coff—”

Unable to contain herself any longer, Casey’s laughter broke through the call. 

“I’m just kidding, mom. I heard you.”

There was a hollow, tinny sound from Elsa’s end of the line. It sounded like something had been dropped.

“What?” 

Casey shook her head, still chortling. “Tomatoes. Tuscan. Like Italy. I got it.”

“Casey!” Elsa chided playfully. “You are impossible.”

“Gimme like, twenty minutes?”

“Uh huh—” More clanging, a little louder now. “Okay, thank you. Love you! Bye!”

“Love you, t—”

The call cut out abruptly, replaced by the car radio. 

“Geez,” Casey mumbled to herself, coming to a stop at a red light.

A different song had started now—something poppy and upbeat that she hadn’t heard in a few months but still reminded her of Izzie. 

# ——

Izzie swapped through the apps on her phone, shifting seamlessly from her stopwatch to her text messages. 

She set her fingers loose, typing as she scanned the thread, trying simultaneously to keep up with the conversation _ and _keep an eye on Luis.

Bianca: _ You’re sure you don’t want candles… _

Izzie: _ NO. CANDLES. _

Bianca: _ Lame. _

Izzie: _ I dont want it to be weird _

Bianca: _ How are candles weird? _

Izzie: _ they’re not _

Bianca: _ ??? _

Izzie: _ it’s just too much _

Izzie: _ and kinda corny lol _

Bianca: _ If you say so. _

Bianca: _ Did you try the skirt on? _

Izzie: _ yeah it fits _

Izzie: _ thanks _

Bianca: _ But how does it look thooooo _

Izzie chuckled as a wave of spying eyes emojis started to roll in. She readied her thumbs to respond to Bianca when… 

“Hey!” Luis was pouting at her, “How come _ you _ get to be on _ your _phone?”

Swiftly, Izzie navigated back to the running stopwatch, pausing it with a patient smile.

“Because_ I _,” she tapped his worksheet twice, “Already know how to do my times tables.”

Luis rolled his eyes. “Only ‘cause you’re old.”

“Um, excuse you!” Izzie gave his shoulder a light nudge. “I am _ not _old.”

He shrugged, delighted to be the center of his sister’s attention again. “You’re older than me.”

Izzie’s jaw was dropped in exaggerated offense. “That does not mean I’m old!”

“Yeah, it does.” Luis snickered, scratching a sloppy ‘six’ under a ‘3x2’ problem. 

Izzie shook her head, regarding his smooth, brown face and jet black hair. She could tell that he was going to be handsome; at this rate, even those awkward pubescent years would be quick and painless for Luis. That mouth, though — that was going to get him into a world of trouble.

“Alright, smartmouth, enough stalling.” Izzie teased, turning her phone around so that Luis could see her unpause the stopwatch. “Finish your work.”

# ——

The almonds were easy enough to find. 

The tomatoes, however, were… well, there were a lot of different tomatoes. 

And Casey had already tried to call Elsa back to determine exactly which _ kind _of tomato she needed, but she hadn’t answered. If she weren’t so stressed in the produce aisle rummaging through tomatoes, Casey might’ve had time to reflect on how ironic it was that Elsa had missed her phone call. (Let Casey have missed one of Elsa’s calls and a SWAT team would have promptly arrived on the scene. Guns drawn.)

Casey groaned, feeling the weight of yet another tomato—Roma, evidently—in her hand. 

She gave the tomato a gentle squeeze, as if doing so might reveal its suitability for Tuscan chicken.

_ Maybe it didn’t matter which kind of tomatoes she got? Yeah, maybe it didn’t matter. _

Casey stuffed three of the plump tomatoes into a plastic bag then started for the checkout line. But she’d only made it halfway there before doubt crept back in… 

_ If it didn’t matter what kind of tomatoes she got… then why the hell were there so many different types? _

Irritated now, Casey backtracked to the produce section. 

Once again, she tried to call Elsa — and once again, the line simply rang and rang. 

Phone pressed to her ear impatiently, Casey picked up a plastic container of cherry tomatoes. They were easily te cutest tomatoes she’d looked at today, and there were lots of them, too. So that was… good?

_ Damn it, did Elsa really not even tell her how many to get, either? _

Casey proceeded to inspect the container with a seriousness that could have only made her look insane. 

“Casey?” Someone inquired from behind.

She knew that voice. Had heard it shape her name before. A hundred times, a thousand times.

So why, then, did it catch her so off guard when she turned around and saw Evan standing there? 

He was smiling awkwardly, donning a flour-splattered smock. Within the shopping basket held at his side were a few different blocks of light-colored cheese and a bunch of something green, cilantro maybe.

“_ Your call has been forwarded to an automatic _—” 

Casey hung up the phone hurriedly.

“Hey,” she responded squeakily. “Hey,” she tried again, sounding more herself.

“Are you—” Evan gestured to the trove of tomatoes behind her. “Do you need some help?”

“What?” Casey could feel herself staring at him, utterly dumbstruck, but unable to pry her eyes away. 

He’d cut his hair short. Really short. It was cropped close to his scalp now and neat. The haircut made him look shorter, but older. Like a real adult, almost. He’d lost a bit of weight in his torso area, too. And something about the set of his shoulders, even in a dirty smock and those tragic non-slip velcro sneakers, he looked so… sure of himself.

“Sorry, you just look kinda…” A worried line bunched across his brow as he cut himself off with a shrug. “Um. How are you?”

“Good.” Casey watched him, still shaken, as he stepped around her to reach for the plastic bag dispensary. 

She hadn’t seen him in three months.

“Yeah, good, just…” She swept her arm over the tomatoes. “Shopping.”

She hadn’t heard his voice in three months.

“Nice,” he chuckled nervously. He shook the flimsy plastic bag until the material gaped open.

She hadn’t checked up on him but once or twice in three months, feeling sickeningly guilty when she discovered that he’d made all of his social media profiles private. She’d been denied access for three months.

She hadn’t texted him in three months. Not once. In fact, she’d finally deleted their text thread last month—the hundreds of pictures and shared memes embedded within—in a bid to stop dwelling on how badly she’d hurt him. (And, yes, to prove to herself how serious she was about Izzie, too.) 

To see him now, plain as day, casual in his work outfit was… weird. So, so weird. 

Casey watched as Evan began stuffing large handfuls of slender, chili-like tomatoes in the plastic bag. Feeling her eyes on him, he smiled sheepishly. “We ran out.”

At first Casey didn’t understand, but then she put the uniform and the tomatoes together. “Right. Gordo’s.”

“Yeah,” Evan nodded, opening a second bag and filling it with smaller, vine-linked tomatoes. “Friday night, so…”

“Right.” Casey nodded, setting down the container of tomatoes she’d forgotten she was holding.

She stood there awkwardly, trying not to stare as she reconciled Evan’s familiar face with his wildly unfamiliar look and presence.

“So, um, how are you?” Casey asked, watching him tie the second bag in a tight knot. 

“Good.” He nodded, “I mean, yeah, great. Just… shopping.” 

He shot her a playful look, which made her laugh and eased some of the awkward tension.

“Oh, hey.”Evan grinned. “I heard about Sam and his new place. Very cool.”

Casey laughed. “Yeah, we had to inspect it for ghosts first, but…” It occurred to her suddenly that the _ we _in question was herself and Izzie, and she promptly changed the subject. “They’re liking it a lot. Him and Zahid, I mean.”

Evan scratched his head. “Crazy to think about those guys living together.”

“Oh my god, right?” Casey shook her head, “Elsa was like, weirdly cool with it, though?”

“No way.” Evan shook his head, stuffing a hand into his pocket.

“Yeah, I mean, at first she was like crying all the time and going through all of Sam’s old baby photos, but then she just… stopped? She bought him and Zahid a bunch of stuff for their apartment, though, so, I’m still not convinced she didn’t, like, stash a nanny cam somewhere.”

“Ah,” Evan nodded, scrunching his forehead. “Definitely planted a camera.” 

They shared a laugh that felt genuine, but it was soon eclipsed by another awkward silence. 

“Hey,” Casey cleared her throat, “Um, do you know what kind of tomatoes I need for tuscan chicken?”

Evan stood back, a surprised grin on his face. “You cooking now?”

“Noooo,” Casey shook her head, “Elsa asked me to get tomatoes, but didn’t tell me what kind.”

“Um, well, probably if it’s just like a sauce she’s making, then…” He leaned over a row of large, fist-sized tomatoes reaching instead for a row of smaller, brighter ones. 

“These.” He handed two of them to her. 

Casey had to laugh. They were the smooth, Roma tomatoes that she had first selected before changing her mind.

“Okay, cool. I’m just gonna get these, then.”

Evan shrugged, “Yeah, pretty much all tomatoes can be used interchangeably, so it won’t be the end of the world unless you get, like, sun-dried tomatoes. Don’t buy those.”

Casey nodded, pretending to listen, but finding herself staring at him again. If Evan noticed, he was too gracious to say anything about it. He merely stood there, rattling on about tomatoes and their various uses.

“So—”

“I—”

They started at the same time. 

A powerful sense of deja vu washed over Casey.

“You go,” she gestured to him.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just… uh, your dad told me about UCLA. I hope that’s okay? We don’t—uh, usually talk about you at work or anything. I wanted to congratulate you, but I… I wasn’t sure if I should text you or not so…” He cleared his throat. “Congrats.”

“Thanks,” Casey nodded, feeling embarrassed for some reason. “I still have to do really well this season, but…”

Evan nodded confidently. “You will.” 

Casey smiled, then remembered her manners. “So, um, how’s the EMT thing going?” 

“Great.” Evan nodded proudly. “I passed my clinicals last week, so…” He gave her a curious look, “I don’t know if your dad told you or not, I mean, probably not,” another sheepish smile, “Basically, it just means I’m a little closer to getting my certification.” 

“Wow.” Casey beamed. “That’s great, Evan.”

“Yeah,” He lifted his basket a little, “And Mike’s been really cool about my hours and stuff, so. It’s a lot, but I’m managing.”

“I bet.” Casey started to say something else, but then Evan was hurriedly reaching into his smock for something.

“Oh, hang on, sorry.” He withdrew his phone, and Casey couldn’t help but notice that even his phone case was unrecognizable. “Hello? Hey, yeah,” Evan looked into his basket, counting. “Tomatoes and gorgonzola. Okay. No, I haven’t left yet. Yeah. Yeah, I can grab some.”

By the time he hung up, Casey had already bagged three of the Roma tomatoes Evan had picked out for her. She set them down gingerly in her basket. 

“Sorry,” He apologized again.

“No,” Casey held her hand up. “It’s cool.”

Evan looked around, straining to see the aisle markers. “I gotta pick up some napkins, so… See you around?”

Casey nodded.

“Congrats, again.” Evan waved awkwardly, then turned to leave. 

Casey’s eyes followed him as he disappeared down the far side of the store, his goofy gait now impossibly upright.

# ——

Izzie held the cup of warm water just above Maya’s brow line, tipping it back slowly.

“Three… two…” She raised the cup higher, expelling a rush of water just so that it sifted through the little girl’s short, curly hair. “One!”

Maya giggled at the sensation, begging Izzie to do it again. 

“One more time, then we need to dry off, okay?”

Maya clapped excitedly, splashing the both of them.

Three more rinses later, Izzie was finally able to convince her little sister to get out of the tub, having bribed her with not one, but two bedtime stories. (Of course, Izzie knew that Maya always fell asleep halfway through the first story anyway, so who was the _ real _ mastermind here?)

She had only just started toweling Maya down when Ethan appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. His Iron Man pajamas, which had once been Luis’ Iron Man pajamas, were starting to constrict around his growing limbs.

“What’s up?” Izzie asked, holding Maya still as she dried her butt.

Ethan fidgeted with the doorjamb. “Are you almost done?”

Izzie smiled. “Uh huh, why?”

“Cause you said you would scratch my back before bed.”

“Promise is a promise.” Izzie nodded, reaching for the pair of star-print underwear she’d let Maya pick out for herself. Izzie held the underwear out as the little girl clumsily stepped into them. 

Izzie sat back on her haunches, pausing to notice just how much water Maya had splashed on her.

“Where’s Luis?” She asked Ethan, glancing out into the hallway, half expecting him to pop out wearing his Halloween mask from last year. (Another one of his late interests, coupled with the backtalk: trying to scare the living shit out of everyone all the time.) 

Ethan shrugged cluelessly.

“Okay.” Izzie sighed. “Can you two wait in the room while I go look for him?” 

Ethan nodded, taking Maya by the hand and leading them out of the bathroom. 

In the living room, Izzie found Luis sitting on the couch, his socked feet kicked up on the coffee table revealing just how well-worn the fabric was. The socks were clean but threadbare, and Izzie knew that his little toes would poke right through the underside if he wore that pair much longer. 

“Bedtime.” She declared, staring at him from across the room. 

He held the remote lax in his hand. “I know.”

Izzie sat next to him on the couch, kicking her own feet up. “You know, _ bedtime _usually involves getting into a bed.”

Luis leaned into her side, resting his head on her bicep. “Can’t I just sleep out here tonight? Maya snores.”

“You want to sleep on the couch?” Izzie brushed his hair back with her hand. For a moment, she considered actually letting him snooze there— anything to finally put this neverending day to rest.

Luis looked up at her hopefully. “Yeah. Can I?”

“You could…” She looked down at him, finding bits and pieces of her face in his. “But you know how scared Ethan gets when he doesn’t have you at night.”

Luis mulled this over with an eye roll; Izzie suspected that he secretly enjoyed being Ethan and Maya’s big brother, the one they jostled awake for consolation after they had a bad dream or heard a strange sound.

“Fine.” He gruffed, fiddling with the remote.

Izzie kissed the top of his head. She was always kissing them: their heads, their faces, their hands — despite the myriad unsanitary things they insisted on touching throughout the course of a day. “Thank you.”

“But if she starts snoring, I’m putting a pillow over her face.” Luis shot up from the couch with an impish laugh. 

“Hey, hold up.” Izzie started, remembering his disappointing progress report.

Her little brother stood there waiting, donning his ruined socks and slouched shoulders. Izzie felt a lump form in her throat. 

“Turn the TV off.” She gestured to the glowing box that had since been moved back to its appropriate spot along the wall.

Luis reached for the remote with a smile. 

“Sorry.” He said, then cut the show off and wandered down the hallway.

When Izzie was certain he was out of earshot, she let out a long, overdue exhale. Alone for the first time since she got home, she stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes. She let herself sink into the cushions as she mentally prepared herself for the bedtime story she’d promised Maya. 

Then her phone buzzed. 

_ Bianca: Still good for tomorrow? _

Izzie fired off a quick text back.

_ Izzie: yeah _

She stood up from the couch with a tired groan. 

Tonight, she’d read Maya’s favorite: _ If Animals Kissed Good Night. _

# ——

“Earth to Casey.”

Elsa’s hand passed over her face.

Casey snapped back to focus, her forearms lodged in warm sink water. “Sorry, here.” 

She extracted two clean plates and handed them to Elsa carefully. 

“What’s up with you?” Elsa set the wet plates in the drying rack before turning to lean against the lip of the sink. 

Casey raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Not that I'm not grateful,” Elsa tilted her head, looking both joyful and concerned. “But you’ve been… hovering a little tonight.”

“What?” Casey furrowed her brow, horrified by the notion that _ she _ had been invading _ Elsa’s _space. “I—? By trying to help?”

“Come on, Case.” Elsa chuckled. “You offered to help me cook _ and _clean up tonight. I’m starting to think that maybe… you want to talk about something?” 

Casey tensed. _ One of these days, she was going to learn to stop underestimating her mother’s intuitiveness. _

Backing away from the sink, Casey dried her hands on her shirt. A small, astonished smile broke across Elsa’s face as she realized Casey was preparing to open up to her.

“I saw Evan.” Casey mumbled. 

“Oh.” Elsa’s grin disappeared with whiplash quickness. “You—? Today?”

“Yeah, when I was in the store getting _ your _tomatoes.” She couldn’t help but let a touch of accusation grace the “your.” After all, she had reasoned—somewhere between leaving the store and ascending the front steps to the house—that she never even would have ran into Evan if Elsa had just done her own grocery shopping.

“Okay....” Elsa studied her carefully. 

“‘Okay’?” Casey mimed impatiently.

Elsa let the silence draw on a little longer, deciding how best to proceed.

Her daughter was always jumping down her throat whenever she tried to impart advice—or even just make simple observations; if Elsa wasn’t being accused of overinvolvement, she was being called nosey, or suffocating, or annoying. All of that appeared to change in her favor when Casey started dating Izzie and it felt like they might finally have the trusting mother-daughter relationship that she yearned for. 

Of course, that hadn’t lasted. Things changed right back almost instantly, swinging hard in the opposite direction, after Elsa was enlisted by Casey’s coach to maintain the crack down at home. Elsa knew Casey would thank her for all the rules some day, but in the meantime, she was trying to accept that they would never really be gal pals...

Until just last week, when things had seemed to change once again. Elsa remembered how she’d brought the bowl of ice cream up to Casey’s room, thinking her daughter could use the small pick-me-up, and been thrown for a loop when Casey suddenly broke down crying. It’d felt good to be needed for emotional support, but Elsa knew better than to chase after those opportunities. 

That’s why she had decided to let Casey come to her from now on. And here she was! Standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island, staring at her with that same look on her face that Doug got when he couldn’t figure out how to reset the oven clock.

“Well, how was it?” Elsa posed coolly.

“I don’t know,” Casey shrugged, “Weird? It was awkward.”

Elsa smiled. “That’s to be expected. You haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

“Yeah,” Casey breathed out. “Kinda forgot just how long until he was standing there.”

“Did you say anything?” Elsa didn’t like the way the question landed, so she tried again: “Did you two speak?”

“We talked a little.” Casey averted Elsa’s eyes; she knew her mother was looking for some sort of tell. “He seems so… different.” 

Elsa mulled this over carefully. “Different, how?”

“Like he’s been going to the gym, which is weird because Evan hates working out.” Casey paused, realizing. “Or, he used to, I guess. And he cut his hair. It’s really short now.”

Elsa nodded, trying to piece together the significance of these details. 

“I guess I just thought…” Casey trailed off.

Elsa waited for her to finish.

“I mean, it’s not like I forgot he existed. Like, dad never talks about him, which is dumb because I know they still work together and stuff, but...” Again, Casey left the thought unfinished.

“Your dad doesn’t talk about him because he knows how awkward it is for you.” Elsa gently reminded her. 

“No, I know.” Casey shook her head, “It was just weird that Evan still knew stuff about me, but… it felt like I didn’t know anything about him anymore. He even walks different now. Like he’s in the military or something.” 

Casey reenacted the walk: shoulders back, head held high, _ rigid. _

Elsa chuckled. “He’s been training hard. Your dad says it’s been a complete 180 with him these last couple of months.”

Casey’s face fell. 

“What’s wrong?” Elsa asked, mad at herself for not already knowing.

Casey pursed her lips. She wasn’t sure how to ask the question that’d been plaguing her ever since she’d left the store: _ Was I the thing holding him back all along? _

“I just don’t get how he’s this brand new person all of a sudden. When he was with—” Casey caught herself. “He just used to be so, I don’t know, like, goofy?”

_ Translation: aimless, unfocused, unsure of himself. _

“Casey,” Elsa pushed off of the counter, rounding the island until they were side-by-side. “Evan’s an adult. He was always capable of change.”

“So why didn’t he just _ change _ when we were together?”

Elsa’s sudden laughter surprised Casey. “That’s the million dollar question, baby!”

Casey’s confusion was evident. “What?” 

“I know you hate my ancient stories, but, hear me out.” Elsa nudged her. “I used to date a boy named Ralph in college. He was a total slob. His car was a mess, his clothes were a mess, his hair was always greasy, and he had this beard....” Elsa pulled a face. “He didn’t care about the way he looked, even though I told him it could be, well, embarrassing to get all dressed up for our dates while he just… showed up wearing whatever. I wouldn’t let him meet any of my friends, and _ forget _about introducing him to your grandma. She would have eaten him alive.”

Elsa sighed, resting her elbows on the island behind her. “So, eventually, Ralph and I broke up. Not because he was a slob, but because he was a slob who was also sleeping with half the Chi Omega house behind my back.”

Casey’s eyes widened.

“Not the point of this story, though!” Elsa went on. “After the breakup, Ralph and I fell out. We ran with different scenes, so it wasn’t very hard to avoid each other. Plus, this was before everything was online and you could just search someone and see what they were up to.” Elsa shook her head. “It’d been about a year since I’d seen him, and I didn’t even know if he was still living in Hartford.” She shrugged now. “I had completely moved on. I was seeing someone else, and I’d just started a job in a little boutique downtown. God, they had me folding clothes all day,” Elsa groaned, drawing a small smile out of Casey. “Anyway, I’m at work one day and Ralph walks right by the shop window.”

Casey raised her eyebrows in anticipation.

“I didn’t even recognize him at first.” Elsa shot Casey an incredulous look. “His hair was slicked back, his shirt was tucked in and ironed. Mind you, I didn’t even know Ralph _ owned _an iron. He’d even shaved his beard off. God, he just looked so...”

“Different?” Casey tried.

“Clean!” Elsa laughed, making Casey laugh too.

“Now, remember. A whole year had passed since we broke up. I was over him! But when I saw him looking like that… It still made me feel, well—” Elsa smiled knowingly at Casey, “Kinda _ weird _.”

Casey nodded. “Yeah.”

“At first, I thought maybe he’d showed up on purpose after all that time just to show me what I was missing.” Elsa rolled her eyes. “But even Ralph wasn’t that big an asshole. So then I got insecure, because I thought, ‘_ well, maybe I just wasn’t worth changing for’. _ I thought maybe he’d met someone better than me and decided to clean up his act to keep her around. So I did some asking around… and found out he was single. Which made me think that maybe _ I _was the reason that Ralph was such a slob when we were dating.”

Casey crooked an eyebrow.

Elsa clarified. “You know, like it was my fault for _ letting _ him be a slob for so long. For not pushing him harder to change.” She levelled a maternal look at Casey, who she could tell was starting to understand. “Every explanation I came up with made me feel worse and worse, but the real problem was: I had convinced myself that _ Ralph’s _ changes had something to do with _ me _. And they didn’t.”

Casey opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, signalling for Elsa to go on.

“You can make _ anything _ about yourself if you try hard enough, but the truth is some things— _ most things _—have nothing to do with you.” Elsa set a gentle hand on her shoulder. “People change at their own pace. The timing isn’t always ideal, but it’s nobody’s fault. Ralph changed because he was ready to change. I was just the girl that got stuck with him before it happened.” 

Casey stared at her mother’s open face, finding so many worry lines permanently etched into it from bringing up two children, now two young adults. She felt grateful for her.

She smiled. “Did you just… tell me to get over myself?”

Elsa hummed happily. “Just a little.”

Casey nodded, ruminating on the advice.

“And Case,” Elsa waited until Casey looked at her again, “Don’t forget that you’ve done plenty of changing, too. And Evan can’t take credit for any of that either.”

Casey’s eyebrows knit together. “It’s kind of annoying how much better you can make me feel.”

A bark of laughter erupted from Elsa’s throat. She stood up straight, moving back to the sink. “Told you I was good for something.”

Then, with her back to Casey, Elsa reached into the sink for a stray fork. She braced herself, reluctant to ruin the moment, but knowing it was important that she ask. “Did you feel anything else when you saw him?”

“Like, did I want him back?” Casey scoffed flippantly. “No way. Especially now that he looks like a naked mole rat.”

Elsa craned her neck to watch Casey laugh at her own joke. She surveyed her daughter’s face for any indication of a lie, and when she realized that Casey was telling the truth, she began to laugh herself. 

# ——

Izzie’s head hit her pillow with a euphoric thump. 

She was fed, showered, and bedtime storied out. Maya had knocked out without any trouble, but Luis and Ethan, who hadn’t even pretended to be tired, had pleaded with her to stay up a little longer. After some intense negotiating, Izzie had caved, allowing the boys another hour or so spent _ quietly _playing on their shared iPad. 

When her phone vibrated beside her, she reached for it grinning.

_ Casey: call in 10? _

Replying with a thumbs up, she switched over to her text thread with Bianca, revealing a series of back-and-forth remarks relating to the extensive, and very clandestine, preparations they’d gotten in order over the last week. 

_ Bianca: How nervous are you? _

Izzie sent back a skull and crossbones emoji, feeling her stomach do flips.

_ Bianca: Lmao. _

_ Bianca: Try to relax. _

_ Izzie: easy for you to say _

_ Bianca: We literally thought of everything. _

_ Bianca: If it goes wrong at this point… _

Izzie had to laugh at the shrugging emoji Bianca sent next; the apathetic cartoon felt very on-brand for her. 

_ Izzie: what if she freaks out _

_ Bianca: She will. _

_ Bianca: In a good way. _

Izzie took a deep breath to calm herself. She could hear Luis and Ethan’s hushed laughter from down the hall, but didn’t have the energy to get up and chide them.

_ Bianca: Seriously. As long as Casey’s not […] you’ll be fine. _

Izzie squinted at the tiny emoji flag, failing to understand. 

_ Izzie: japanese? _

_ Bianca: Lmaoooooooo. _

_ Bianca: On her period. _

FUCK.

FUCKITY FUCK FUCK SHIT.

_ Izzie: omg..._

_ Bianca: ? _

_ Izzie: what if shes on her period??? _

Izzie nearly threw her phone at the thought. Dots appeared at the foot of the text thread, indicating that Bianca was forming a response, then abruptly disappeared. Izzie gripped her phone, panicking as her screen lit up with an incoming call from Bianca. 

“Hey,” Izzie’s answered tentatively.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Bianca’s voice was void of amusement. 

“I completely forgot.” Izzie groaned.

“Are you telling me that you didn’t even check if Casey was on her period before you planned this?” 

“Why would I even think about that!” Izzie snapped, almost laughing when she realized how ludicrous the expectation was. “How am I supposed to know that? It’s not like I… I’ve never done this before!”

“Okay. Just, let me think.”

Izzie sat up in her bed. “I can’t just ask her if she’s on her period, Bianca. She’ll know something’s up.” 

“I’m thinking, Izzie.” Bianca’s voice was firm, intended to reassure her. 

There was a short, deliberative silence. 

“Ooh,” Bianca’s voice was renewed, “Does she track it using an app? You’d just need to get her phone.”

Izzie shrugged, feeling the dull onset of a tension headache. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Bianca paused. “Look, don’t worry about it, we’ll figure it out.”

“Before tomorrow night?” Izzie felt as deflated as her voice sounded. “How?”

“I don’t know, we just will. We’ve come _ way _too far to just—”

“Yeah.” Izzie interrupted, remembering all of the sleuthing they’d done and feeling proud of everything they’d managed to secretly arrange. “I know.”

“Okay, then. Get to bed, lovebird.” Bianca snickered. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Izzie’s stomach did a second flip. Then a third.

_ Don’t remind me. _

“Okay, bye. And—” She took a deep breath. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Anytime, Mary.” 

“Stop calling me t—”

_ Click. _

Izzie rolled her eyes at the nickname. No matter how many times she’d assured Bianca that she wasn’t a virgin, Bianca held firm to her doubts—namely because Izzie had been so easily flustered every time Bianca tried to go over the game plan with her. 

Sighing, Izzie balanced her phone on her stomach and waited for Casey’s call. 

Her eyes followed the winding blades of her ceiling fan and she wondered, briefly, if Bianca would still be calling her Mary after tomorrow night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes out to the schedulers, the planners, the sticklers, the perfectionists, the double-checkers, the agendists, the arrangers, and, of course, anyone that’s ever just said fuck it and gone on to earn their red wings.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I last wrote fanfic, nearly a decade as a matter of fact. I'm in an interesting place in my life right now, and seem to have lost all desire to write. Anyway, I finished Season 3 of Atypical the day after it was released and have since been spending a lot of time thinking about what Season 4 would/will look like. So much so that I've ventured back to fanfiction, which I'm pleased to say has been a rather generative return to my roots. (Imagine that, giving myself the time and space to write has actually made me feel like writing again!) 
> 
> All of this to say: you can definitely expect a few more installments of this story, and if/when I don't feel like writing it anymore, I'll try to bow out as gracefully as I can with a cohesive final chapter.
> 
> P.S. I promise my notes won't always be so long winded. Just wanted to let y'all know the situation.


End file.
